Will to Live
by Araceil
Summary: Slash. L/H. Expelled from Hogwarts, left to his own devices, Harry finds a new home but when children start going missing, vanishing into thin air, the World's Greatest Mind has his curiousity piqued.
1. Will to Live

**Will to Live**

**Another story. I know. I should be shot. But you guys love me really. XDD;; I hope.**

* * *

**CHAPTER ONE**

**Will to Live**

* * *

You could have cut the tension with a knife had it actually been a tangible object. The silence was thick and stifling as every eye turned and locked onto the burning Goblet of rough hewn wood in front of them, the blue flames that danced and crackled from the mouth slowly darkening to an almost purple and then finally red, almost as if the flames had been poisoned. Golden sparks spat violently from the tip, as if it were trying to cough something up and then, finally, a sharp tongue of flame lanced up, high into the air. A tiny, charred scrap of parchment fluttering from the tip and into the waiting grasp of the aged Wizard below.

The intensity of the watchers increased three fold, to a degree where even he felt a bead of sweat begin to form on his head.

"The Hogwarts Champion," the old man called, making the students shift, perching on the very edges of their seats, "Cedric Diggory!"

"No!" Ron complained loudly, but nobody heard him except his best friend, sat next to him and breathing a silent sigh of relief as the Hufflepuff table exploded, everyone jumping to their feet screaming and stamping as Cedric made his way past them, grinning broadly, looking light headed and stunned as he headed off towards the side chamber behind the Teacher's Table. The applause took so long to die down that Harry's ears were ringing by the end of it and he too was clapping and grinning stupidly, perhaps it was selfish, but he was glad that only seventeen-year-olds were allowed to compete in the Tournament, he had been through quite enough excitement to last him a life time. He had no desire to put his life on the line anymore.

"Excellent," Dumbledore called happily, as the last of the uproar died down, the Hogwarts students back in their seats with every Hufflepuff wearing a face splitting smile. "Well, we now have our three champions. I am sure I can count upon all of you, including the remaining students from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, to give your champions every ounce of support you can muster. By cheering your champion on, you will contribute in a very real – " he trailed off and it was immediately apparent to everyone just why.

The fire in the Goblet has bled crimson again. Golden sparks flew from the mouth and a long tongue of flame jetted out, a fourth piece of charred parchment fluttering in its disappearing wake.

Automatically, it seemed, the old Headmaster's hand reached out and snatched the paper in midair, threatening to crush it into dust. He brought it down and carefully unfolded it before staring at the name written down in silence, his face grim. There was a long silence and then, as everyone stared at him, he cleared his throat and read out –

"_Harry Potter._"

* * *

It was like a punch to the gut.

Harry moved as if in a daze as Hermione pushed him toward, he stumbled through the throngs of students, grey skinned, wide eyed and horrified, his hands were shaking and he felt sick. The hall was silent as he stared up imploringly at Dumbledore, begging him to explain what was going on, why he was being called, he was _fourteen_! He didn't stand a chance in this competition, he knew it, the staff knew it! Why... why was he being called?

But no answer was given and it was with a lead weight in his stomach that he walked into the Champions chamber, shaking, grey and terrified.

Cedric and Krum seemed to be the only ones who figured out that something was amiss, that was even before the Heads came thundering in along with the Ministry officials. Harry wanted to throw up. He wanted to go into a corner and throw up and hide away from the rest of the world because he couldn't do this! He didn't _want_ to do this!

"Well... it is amazing," one of them was saying, Bagman he hazily recalled, he wasn't listening, it was as if everyone were underwater or speaking through cling film. He couldn't hear them, there was a ringing in his ears. "But, as you know, the age restriction was only imposed this year as an extra safety measure. And as his name's come out of the Goblet... I mean, I don't think there can be any ducking out at this stage... It's down in the rules, you're obliged... Harry will just have to do the best he – "

The doors behind them opened again and a group of people came in, the Heads followed by Professors McGonagall and Snape along with Mr Crouch. Harry wasn't paying attention though. His hands were shaking and he was staring at the fire, he pressed a hand over his mouth and another one around his stomach, he was going to throw up. He didn't pay attention to Fleur as she marched to Madam Maxime to complain about him, he felt a ripple of anger but gave it up, he was small for his age, and he was only fourteen, he was a _little boy_ compared to her and everyone else in this room. There had never been a Champion younger than he was, that much he knew, the youngest had been Halfblood Yanik Ivanovich from Durmstrang, a month past his fifteenth birthday when he had been selected. He died. There were no rules about age for the Triwizard Tournament.

Rules... Yes. Hermione mentioned something about the Rules one night.

A school representative, a student, could only be a champion. It was to prevent the Teachers from attempting to take part and steal the glory and the prize from the younger, less talented students. To prevent Master and Apprentice from taking part for much the same reason.

Only a student could...

Harry felt cold. There... really was no other option was there? Not if he wanted to live to see his fifteenth Birthday. He... had been entertaining the thought of leaving before now. He... In his Second Year that he learned the Wizarding world wasn't all it was cracked up to be, their mentality made him feel ill, it was as though they didn't have an original thought in their heads. Whatever they were told they accepted as the gospel truth. No one second guessed authority, no one _thought _for themselves, they were just so... fickle. No one stopped to consider the Founder's History, no one stopped to even consider Hagrid when he was expelled, when he was carted off to Azkaban, no one stopped to think about getting Mandrake Restorative Drought from St Mungo's, the hospital, or even from the Apothecary in Diagon Alley. No one even considered looking for Ginny, just sat back and informed her family of her death.

And he would see these actions repeated in depressingly familiar patterns the very next year.

Third Year, he decided, was that much worse, he decided that the Magical World was rotten right through to the core, this was when his first desire to leave was born, when Sirius offered him a way out, a home and even if he hadn't been cleared Harry would have gladly gone with him and escaped Hogwarts without a backwards glance. Because it was freedom, it was safety and even though Sirius was hardly the best person to be taking care of him, Harry didn't need taking care of, he'd been doing it himself for as long as he could remember. He just needed someone to love him, protect him from the adults who sought to use him and from all those things he wasn't old enough yet to handle himself. But common sense dictated that it would be easier for Sirius to hide alone than with Harry tagging along, he would probably get them caught in all honesty as he neither had an Animagus form and he was entirely too high-profile in the Wizarding World to avoid a massive manhunt for, one beyond that of the one Sirius had to suffer through.

So... in all honesty... it did boil down to this.

Harry had no desire to die, and he had no desire to conform to the Stage that Dumbledore was beginning to set, he was hardly stupid, he was hardly blind. '_The safest place in the world is Hogwarts._' Funny, funny how it was safe for everyone _but_ Harry and funny how the danger always seemed to be nudged _just_ right to involve him, to aim for him. Harry was naturally a suspicious bastard, he had to be, what with Dudley offering him drinks laced with Anti-freeze or Vernon taking him out with the family from the kindness of his heart only to try and '_leave_' him behind in an unknown place. Only Petunia had yet to do something like that, though the way she swung that Frying Pan at him in the drop of a hat was another thing entirely.

He... he was actually beginning to long for those days, those simple uncomplicated days where everyone knew the status quo and everyone knew the roles they had to play and Harry knew what his future would entail and how he would go about leaving them behind. But now he knew the truth and _ever_ since he arrived in Hogwarts, that simplicity was shattered, painfully.

Every year... every year he nearly died. Sometimes more than once. Every year.

He looked up then, took a deep breath and said as loudly as he could without shouting –

"_Expel me_."

* * *

Whatever Harry had been expecting when he returned to Gryffindor Tower, it most certainly hadn't been the impromptu party lying in wait for his arrival, though really, considering how it was the Weasley Twins who apparently threw everything together he shouldn't have been surprised. He hadn't been able to get a single word in edgewise as he was whirled from group to group, everyone cheering his '_success_' in tricking the Age Line and getting into the Goblet of Fire. It was all Harry could do not to strangle the nearest available throat and scream at them to listen to him for once instead of just deciding everything themselves!

In the end, Harry slipped away and stalked up to the boys' dormitory, he didn't want to be around the crowd anymore, never wanted to be around it anyway. Did any of them realise how Hufflepuff may have been feeling right now? His heart sank and again, he wondered if he was doing the right thing. Cedric and Krum had both managed to give him a little peace of mind, but walking in here, facing the wall of enthusiastic teenagers who weren't even willing to pause their merriment to hear what he had to say had shaken it from him.

Ron wasn't down there. Neither was Hermione.

He hoped they would believe him when he said he hadn't put his name in. He hoped, but in all of life's things, he didn't put much faith in it. Once bitten, twice shy.

Ron was fully dressed and lying on his bed when Harry slunk in, closing the door behind him to silence the merriment taking place below, for a moment, the Boy Who Lived observed his friend, long lanky limbs he had yet to grow into, stark orange freckles, short fiery red-gold hair that was almost curly, his second hand clothes that threatened to reveal an inch of ankle flesh as he lay down. And for a split second, Harry felt cold and sad, knowing that he wouldn't see his friend again for a long time.

"Oh, hello," the red head greeted, he was grinning at him but... it was just so fake that Harry didn't know how to reply, the words he wanted to say dried up on his tongue.

Instead, he smiled weakly in greeting and made his way to his bed.

"So," the other boy began, "Congratulations."

What was there to congratulate? "What do you mean?" he asked quietly as he began to unpack his school bag, not looking up at the red head as he piled his textbooks in one group and his notebooks and unused Parchment in another. Stationary was pushed to the side, uncaring as to whether or not the quills stained the bed with ink.

"Well... no one else got past the Age Line," he pointed out, still wearing that horribly fake and strained smile, "Not even Fred and George. What did you use – the Invisibility Cloak?"

"The cloak wouldn't have gotten me across the line," Harry pointed out slowly as he opened his bedside table and began to unpack the knick knacks inside as well.

"Oh, right," Ron realised. "I thought you might've told me if it was the Cloak... because it would've covered both of us, wouldn't it? But you found another way, did you?"

Harry frowned, "Listen," he bit out, looking over his shoulder at his friend, he didn't want to see that horribly fake smile, but he wanted to show the other boy he was telling the truth! "I didn't put my name in that Goblet. Someone else must've done it."

Ron's eyebrows rose, "What would they do that for?" he asked sceptically.

Harry bristled slightly at the tone and faced away, scepticism, disbelief, scorn, all there, all painful to look at coming from his best friend... former best friend, he guessed. Harry shrugged as he got down on his hands and knees and explored under his bed, coming up with a pair of old socks and the little statuette of Viktor Krum Ron had on his bedside – wordlessly, Harry tossed it onto the red head's mattress. "Dunno," he finally answered as he opened his trunk, it would probably be too melodramatic to say '_to try and kill me_', even though it would have been the truth. He was just fed up of having most of his questions answered like that. '_Because someone is trying to kill you_'.

Ron's eyebrows had risen further, "It's okay, you know, you can tell _me_ the truth," he pointed out coolly, "If you don't want everyone else to know, fine, but I don't know why you're bothering to lie, you didn't get into trouble for it, did you? That friend of the Fat Lady's, that Violet, she's already told us all, Dumbledore's letting you enter – "

Harry cut him off, too angry, too hurt to listen to anymore, even his best friend thought he was lying, "I've been expelled, Ron." The red head gaped at him as the dark haired male scooped up his belongings off the bed and dropped them into his trunk, slamming it shut. "The Fat Lady's friend obviously didn't stick around long if she missed that. Snapped my wand and everything. I'm going back to the Muggles."

He grabbed Hedwig's cage and his Trunk, marching off towards the doors, "Goodbye Ron. Nice knowing you," he stated flatly, not looking at him as he left the dormitory and made his way down to the Common Room.

Ron could only stare at his departing back.

* * *

"Expel me_." _

_The room descended into silence, every eye turned toward Harry in startlement as the fourteen year old stared unwaveringly up at Headmaster Dumbledore._

"_Expel me," he repeated forcefully. "The Triwizard Tournament Rules state that only a _student_ representative of the School can be Champion. If you expel me, I will no longer be a student and the Contract will be broken." Bagman stuttered and Harry swallowed tightly, still staring defiantly up at Dumbledore. "Expel me," he repeated._

"_Harry – " Bagman begun._

_Harry jerked a hand up, startling him into silence, his face twisted in frustration, "Please, Professor. Every year since I've come to Hogwarts, someone or something has nearly killed me. Every year. Sometimes more than once. I survived on _luck_." He swallowed, "I'm fourteen, Professor. I'd quite like to live long enough to see sixteen. I can't _do_ that if I'm taking part in this Tournament. I'm not suicidal. And I'm not arrogant enough to think I stand even the slimmest of chances."_

_Snape sneered and opened his mouth to, no doubt, launch a scathing tirade of piss and bile designed to do nothing more than insult and humiliate him, Harry didn't even let him draw the breath to speak before he was pointing at the Potion's Master and glaring. "And you can shut up! It has nothing to do with you!" he barked angrily, "Keep your forked tongue behind your teeth." He didn't know why he was lashing out like this, but he was just so fed _up_ with everyone trying to kill him, everyone bad mouthing him, everyone thinking they could treat him like crap in one breath and then love him in the next. _

"_Come now, Mr Potter, surely – " Mr Crouch began, his voice attempting to be soothing._

"_Expel me, or I'll snap my wand and never come back!" Harry snapped, his temper fraying, he wasn't stupid, he knew, he knew for a long time that it was Dumbledore who needed him, the Wizarding World needed him a lot more than Harry needed them. He had been planning his escape from the Dursleys' for years even before he found out that he was a Wizard, it wouldn't be too difficult to adjust those plans to take into allowance the Wizarding World, hell, it would be easier now that he knew he had access to all that money hidden within Gringotts. All he would have to do is catch up with the missing years of Muggle School, which shouldn't be too difficult, Potions like Wit Sharpening and the like would help his memory retention – and Harry was hardly ever stupid to begin with, he just had to act like it to prevent a Dursley Temper Tantrum and a week in the Cupboard._

_Snape sneered, apparently regaining his mental faculties along with his sour disposition, "Just like your father, arrogant to the core," he seethed, "You would never be able to survive in the Muggle World, you selfish little wretch! Your tiny little puerile mind cannot – "_

_CRACK!_

"_Harry!" McGonagall spluttered in horror, her eyes widening to impossible proportions behind her glasses. Even Moody, who had just walked through the door, swore in alarm and horror as the Boy Who Lived snapped his wand over his knee._

_Snape froze, his mouth open mid-sentence as Harry sneered at him, the broken pieces of his eleven inch Holly and Phoenix Feather wand dropping from his fingers to clatter hollowly on the floor, feeble scarlet and gold sparks sputtering from the tip._

"_Did you think I was joking?" he asked quietly, only Cedric really noticed the slight waver to his voice, everyone else in the room had gone grey and green, staring at him horror as he essentially exiled himself from their world. _

_He turned away and roughly shoved the door open, "I'm leaving. Don't expect me to ever come back."_

"_Harry, my boy, don't – " Dumbledore began but Harry had just had enough._

"_I'm not your ANYTHING!" he roared, "I'm tired of it! I'm tired of wondering when I'll die, I'm tired of being scared every time I get on the Hogwarts express, I'm tired of being scared every time I get off it! I'm tired of it! I'm tired of the Magic World and I'm tired of the Durlseys and most of all I'm tired of you and your constant meddling, your manipulations, your _lies_, your tasks, your tricks! I'm tired of your negligence! You nearly got Ginny killed! You nearly got ALL of us killed with those _fucking_ Dementors last year!" he screamed, cursing and biting back the prickle of tears. He just couldn't stomach this any more. "And now you're setting up the Triwizard Tournament where they could die!" he added gesturing to the Champions, "Enough! Enough, enough, enough! No more! Go _fuck_ yourself and your secrets old man and leave me alone!"_

"_Mr Potter!" He didn't know who said it, probably McGonagall, but it was enough to jolt him out of his anger, enough to make him calm down just long enough to turn away and march off out of the Great Hall._

_Enough to make him sit down on the Marble Staircase, out of sight, put his head in his hands and just _breathe.

_Breathe and _think_ about what to do now, where to go now and what to do when he got there. Breathe and calm down, simmer his anger and cool it off, to get his hands to stop shaking and his vision to stop spinning. To calm down and reassure himself that he _had_ done the right thing._

_Originally, he had thought he could expel himself for just that year, come back the following year like they sometimes did with Muggle Schools. A suspension wouldn't work because he would still be a student, but if he was off the Register as an Expulsee, then he could transfer back in after '_Homeschooling_' himself. He could sit the tests at the end of the year, pass them, and rejoin Hogwarts at fifth year but now..._

_He'd let his temper get the better of him and now he was without that option._

_The Gryffindor – ex-Gryffindor now, he supposed – sighed and leaned back, he guessed that his first step would be finding a place to live. Once he had that, he could think about everything else. He wondered if Wizards had anything like those people... the Housing Sales People... ideally he didn't want anything too big, he didn't have much stuff and he knew that he would rattle around in a big house, briefly he contemplated getting a Penthouse apartment with marble kitchen tops and a jacuzzi and a Queen sized bed in the middle of London before snorting at his own stupidity. He grew up in a Cupboard and spent the last three and a bit years sharing living and sleeping space with four other guys, he would feel insanely uncomfortable in a Penthouse or indeed, in anything even the slightest bit luxurious._

_He would have to go to Gringotts first, see how much money he actually had. Muggle banks had those Bank Account things so he figured he should find out if there was any way of getting his Wizarding Money in the Muggle World, he doubted it though, otherwise the Grangers wouldn't have to keep going to Gringotts and exchanging their money with a Teller. Ah well, it wouldn't hurt to ask at least._

_Then he could think about getting a new Wand – if Ollivander would sell him one, if not then... he couldn't be the only Wand Crafter in the world, could he? Harry would just have to hunt down someone else._

"_Harry?" The Gryffindor jolted and looked up sharply to see Cedric stood in front of him looking a little uncomfortable, "Are you alright?" he asked hesitantly._

_The Boy Who Lived stared at him for a moment before shaking his head and looking down, "No, not really. I'm sorry for making a scene earlier," he muttered, his behaviour back in the antechamber had been... embarrassing to say the least, he'd completely forgotten that he had something of an audience when he laid into Dumbledore like that._

"_Don't worry about it." The Hufflepuff bit his lip and hesitantly sat beside him on the staircase, "That was pretty brave of you, snapping your wand like that," he said quietly, making the fourteen year old jerk slightly and look at him in disbelief, Cedric smiled encouragingly at him, "It was." He looked down at his clasped fingers, picking a little at his thumbnail, "If it were me, I don't think I would be able to give up magic. It's too convenient, I guess."_

_The two sat in silence for a bit, Cedric trying to think of a way to cheer the young Gryffindor up and Harry wondering if the Hufflepuff was having him on._

"_To tell the truth," Cedric said, "I was angry when I found out you were going to be the Fourth Champion. I thought you were trying to be a Glory Hound, but then I actually looked at you, you looked so scared. You'd gone grey and I felt guilty that I'd even considered it. I had noticed before how you hated the attention Weasley kept drawing to you, how, whenever something went wrong, you would try to put it right. Like saving Granger from that Troll in your First Year or saving the Weasley Girl in Second." Cedric picked at his thumbnail, tearing a crescent off and flicking it away to continue scratching at the now raggedy tip, "I guess what I'm trying to say is, you're a modest guy so you wouldn't try to enter the Tournament. You'd only risk your life to help someone and entertaining a crowd or getting honour and glory won't help anyone but yourself so..." the Hufflepuff shook his head and smiled self depreciatingly, "I'm not coming across very well. Am I?"_

"_Not really," Harry admitted shyly._

_Cedric laughed lightly, "Thought so. Look, you're a smart guy, you're not like other Gryffindors who don't think and instead just leap in head first." His smile was kindly and not at all malicious, but never the less Harry felt a little upset at his next words, "You knew you would've died if you competed so I'm glad you decided to leave. I don't want to know how everyone would react when they had to carry your body out, it would probably kill Granger and Weasley."_

_Harry nodded, Cedric hadn't thought he was capable of fighting in the Tournament either... but still, he was right, he would've died and it _would_ have upset Ron and Hermione greatly if he had died. He smiled slightly, they might hate him and call him a coward for ducking out but... at least Hermione wouldn't be crying and Ron wouldn't be walking around like a Zombie. _

"_Cedric," he said, making the older boy cringe a little as he no doubt realised how his words _could_ have been taken, "Thanks."_

_The Hufflepuff grinned cheerfully, "Don't mention it. Stay safe, Harry. If you need any help just send me an Owl alright? You know my Dad's in the Ministry so if there's anything at all, we'll do our best to help."_

_Harry nodded and watched as the Hufflepuff got to his feet and made his way down the staircase towards the kitchen, the Hufflepuff Dorms must have been downstairs in the Dungeons then. How odd, though, Badgers were creatures that had their homes underground, perhaps that was the thinking?_

"_I as vell, vill help if you haff need of it."_

_Harry jumped and nearly swore as Krum's thickly accented voice resounded next to him, the hawk eyed Quidditch Player having appeared from the Great Hall while Cedric and Harry had been talking. He had his hands in his pockets and his deep set eyes were watching the Gryffindor closely._

"_You did the right thing. You are too young to haff to compete. It vould not haff been sporting forcing a fourth year to compete against seventh years," he explained with a brisk nod. "Should you haff need, I vill help. I hear you are good vith Quidditch, perhaps ve vill see how good?"_

_Professional Quidditch? Harry nodded, a slight smile coming to his lips, that was something that didn't require a wand and he was a damn good flyer. He may not be able to play Seeker, that was Krum's position, but Wood said he would have made a fair Beater, perhaps he could train for that or even get a recommendation as a Seeker for another Team? _

"_Thank you," he told the Bulgarian sincerely. _

_Krum nodded and then smiled, it changed his whole face, before he looked surly and unattractive, when he smiled it was like his whole face lit up and he looked so young. Harry was a little stunned to be honest. Krum should smile more often, he decided as he watched the man slouch off, no doubt leaving the school and heading back to the floating ship._

_He should probably go to bed as well._

_He could think about this complicated stuff tomorrow while he was on his way to Diagon Alley._

_Getting to his feet, Harry rubbed a little warmth into his cold behind and began the long trek up to Gryffindor Tower._

* * *

Anger gave him energy as he stormed through the bitter chill of the Hogwarts grounds, heading to Hogsmeade and the Three Broomsticks, hopefully Madam Rosmerta would still be open and willing to let him use the Floo. True, he was supposed to wait for the Hogwarts Express tomorrow, a formal announcement was going to be made at breakfast but Harry just... he just didn't want to deal with the students, with Ron, with Hermione, with Snape, with just Magic in general. He would stay connected to the Magical World, but he wouldn't... wouldn't be a part of it. He could get a room at the Leaky Cauldron, like last year, and sort out whatever business he had to from there, Tom would be able to help him out as well, the toothless bartender had all sorts coming and going, he would certainly be in the know and he had always been very helpful and pleasant to Harry before.

Luckily for Harry, the Three Broomsticks was still open, it wasn't going to shut until midnight in another three hours.

Shouldering his way through the masses of witches and wizards he made his way to the counter where Madam Rosmerta was pulling a pint of Butterbeer, a quick conversation later and the exchange of three sickles earned him a handful of Floo Powder and the use of Madam Rosmerta's living room with which to travel. The pitying look on her face when she found out he'd been forced to leave Hogwarts made him severely wish that the Knight Bus could be summoned just by pointing a finger out and saying '_there's no place like home_' three times fast.

Either way, he spun and spun and spun and got bruises on his hips and elbows and scratches on his knuckles from keeping hold of his Trunk until he was finally spat out in the Leaky Cauldron.

It was less busy compared to the Broomsticks but the clientèle were a lot shadier.

But never the less.

Harry was on his own from now on. He wasn't sure whether he should be excited... or scared.

* * *

**What do you think? **

**Give love to my wonderful Beta: Stalker of Stories!**


	2. Against the Wire

**Will to Live**

**For those of you interested, no, L won't be making an appearance for a while and no, the Kira case won't happen yet. It ****definitely**** won't be how they meet. XDD This is set a few years BEFORE the Kira case. But I will be covering the Kira Case, its practically cat nip for the fandom, but its been done to death so I'd like to do something original first. Kind of like a prequel featuring how they met and events there-after. I think after the Kira case I may cover the Magic World... maybe, things are a little hazy that far ahead. I've got a lot more story to work with before we get to the Kira Case.**

* * *

**CHAPTER TWO**

**Against the Wire**

* * *

Waking up in the Leaky Cauldron was an odd experience, but, not as bad as he had anticipated.

He lay in the lemon scented sheets, waiting for the guilt, for the depression, for anything, to hit him and sink in and tell him that he was an idiot for ditching out of Hogwarts like that, to make him regret it and want to go back but... he didn't. He _didn't_ regret it.

He was sad of course, sad that the dream had ended, but... it didn't _cripple_ him. And if anything, that was what made him feel guilty. Guilty that he didn't feel worse about his decision.

Emotions were complicated, he decided as he got out of bed and opened his trunk, hunting for some appropriate clothing for the day. Being November, he decided to wrap warmly since he foresaw having to go and visit Gringotts to get some money – he had every intention of getting a place to live on his own, or even going to an Orphanage under a false name, he would not go back to the Dursleys, _ever_.

Heading down the narrow staircase, Harry waved briefly at Tom as he sat down at the bar, "May I have some breakfast please, Mr Tom?" he asked quietly, trying not to draw attention to himself. He needn't have bothered, no one was in the pub yet apart from them.

"What would you like, Mr Potter?" the old man asked, politely not asking why he was here instead of Hogwarts, Tom was good like that, he knew when he shouldn't pry.

"A pot of tea and a bowl of porridge please, it looks like today is going to be rather cold," he said, patiently waiting as the old man bustled his way into the kitchen to sort out Harry's breakfast. All the while, he was rather pleasantly reminded of the two weeks he spent on his own living in the Leaky during his Third Year, Tom had been fantastic that time. Perhaps he would let Harry stay here again, until his Fifth year, and Harry could work behind the bar or cleaning up the rooms in return? He could stu- ah... he snapped his wand... Ollivander would be pissed and refuse to sell him another one if the reaction he had to Hagrid was any suggestion. '_The Wand chooses the Wizard_', and Harry had snapped his, beyond what spello-tape could repair.

When Tom returned, a kind of helplessness had finally descended upon Harry.

What was he supposed to do now? He'd never given much thought beyond '_Get out of the Tournament, get out of Hogwarts, go _anywhere_ but the Dursleys_'. It looked like his lack of forethought was going to take a meaty chunk out of his ass this time.

"Oh, thank you Mr Tom," he managed to say when he finally realised that his breakfast had been pushed under his nose. The two stayed in silence for a while, Tom cleaning up the bar by hand, if only for something to occupy his hands while Harry ate his breakfast, sipping occasionally at his somewhat sweetened tea while he listened to the distant sounds of early morning traffic in Muggle London outside.

He was in quite the awkward situation. He needed to think about this logically, like he would when faced with a Dursley sized chore list and not enough time to finish everything in.

Right, his current circumstances were this:

– No wand.

– No home.

– An unfinished education and no chance of continuing it, Muggle or Magical.

– And possibly people looking to either kill him (he was used to this) or fawn over him to a degree that was just creepily uncomfortable and slightly paedophilic, he wasn't so used to this.

As for his resources... he had Hedwig, his Vault – which he didn't even know would support him for any sizeable length of time – and his Trunk which was full of books he couldn't use anymore and clothes that used to belong to Dudley and to be quite honest were in no fit state to be worn in public.

First things first, he needed a place to stay and he didn't want to put himself on any of his friends, so it had to be a place for him and him alone – and Hedwig. But no one in their right minds would sell a house or a flat to a fourteen year old, he could lie about his age but considering how he _already_ looked like an _eleven_ year old, trying to claim he was fifteen was pushing his luck. The idea of the Potters having multiple homes never even crossed his mind, it just wasn't done in England, Americans may have more than one home, may have various houses in whatever country took their fancy but it just wasn't done in England. So the idea never even occurred to Harry once he decided that Godric's Hollow was destroyed, which Hagrid had said it was at the Three Broomsticks during his third year, specifically mentioning how he dug Harry out of the ruins of his nursery himself. Which didn't leave much hope for the rest of the house in the former Gryffindor's opinion.

This left him with the Muggle orphanage option.

The problem with that was the lack of protection. Any Witch or Wizard who caught sight of him might freak out and decide to start pawing at the 'Boy-Who-Lived-To-Be-Expelled-And-Run-Away'. That would be impossible to explain without breaking the Statute of Secrecy and he had enough offences on his record already, not to mention he didn't want to suffer through one of Dumbledore's '_disappointment_' lectures about how he didn't return to the Dursleys where it was safe and blah, blah, blah. No way in hell.

He sighed and got to his feet, tea and porridge finished with, "How much do I owe you Mr Tom?" he asked the older wizard.

"Three Galleons and eight sickles," he informed the young boy who began to rummage in his pockets, producing two Galleons and a Knut.

"Damn, not enough. I'll be right back Mr Tom. I need to make a dash to Gringotts. You've got my Trunk upstairs and Hedwig so you know I'll be back," he assured the Barman, just in case he thought Harry was going to pull a runner before making his way to the back alley and freezing when faced with the wall and his distinct lack of a Wand in which to open the portal. He let out a vicious string of curse words before returning to the bar and sheepishly asking Tom to open the way.

He looked suspicious but didn't question him on why he hadn't done it himself, no doubt he was beginning to form his own conclusions about Harry's circumstances, either way, Harry was in Diagon with time to waste and soon to have more than a bit of money to burn. He regretted leaving the pub without his cloak or scarf but figured he would warm up once he got himself going so made his way to Gringotts where he withdrew quite a lot of cash and converted half of it into Muggle money. The four hundred pounds he received due to the conversion rates was thoroughly appreciated, he could live off that for a long time to come if needs be, he was surprised though, gold, silver and bronze of the quality Gringotts used could easily be sold for three times its value in the Muggle World – he guessed they must've had specific charms on them to prevent more inspired Muggleborns and their parents from making that exchange though.

Since he didn't have a wand in which to return to the Alley, and he didn't want to disturb Tom overly much, Harry opted to get a fair bit of superfluous shopping done while he was here. He practically whirled around the various stores in Diagon Alley, only spending any substantial length of time at the tiny clinic hidden behind Florean Forescque's ice cream store, he had his eyes checked – discovered his glasses were the wrong prescription and got them corrected – had his teeth checked – he had cavities, a potion was used to replace the eroded enamel – and his general health examined – he was suffering from malnutrition, which the nurse said explained his anorexic look, his growth had been stunted, his bones were delicate, he was also anaemic and suffering from a severe iron deficiency. In all, he wasn't going to die but the Healer was spitting mad at his '_abusive background_' and the '_incompetence of his Medi-Healer_'. Madam Pomfrey would have had her guts for garters if she ever said that to her face.

But then again, how _did_ the anally retentive school Healer miss all this?

Harry put it down to just never having the time or opportunity to look and left it at that. Every time he went to see Pomfrey he was either on the verge of death or had a very clear reason to be there that was fairly easy to fix for the veteran School Nurse.

Unbeknownst to Harry, when he finally entered back into the Leaky Cauldron, rosy cheeked and laden down with his bag of swag, a certain Elphias Doge, old schoolmate of Albus Dumbledore, had spotted him from the Floo he had just tumbled out of. He turned around and went straight back in, heading for Hogsmeade and Dumbledore himself while Harry paid his debt to Tom and made his way back up to his room.

In all, he hadn't found anything he had particularly needed and nothing he would have shelled out particularly large amounts of money for, he knew he had to be careful about his spending now, it had to last him. The first shop he ended up in had been a Magical Junk shop, a bit like a Charity or an Antiques shop in the Muggle world, opposite Ollivanders', it had a vast array of pretty much everything you could think about – it was a bit like a more benign version of Borgin and Burke's from Knockturn Alley. In there he found himself with a bottomless Moke-skin bag that had a handy expansion Charm placed on it, he could stick anything in there and considering how lugging his huge trunk around was enough of a pain, the ability to stick it into the bag would be a life saver. He made sure to stop off at the Apothcary to get some more potion ingredients and some pre-made potions – he didn't have Madam Pomfrey to take care of him anymore and knowing his luck he would get into more than a few scrapes.

He also got clothes.

Socks, underpants, some rather battered gloves and a second hand leather jacket with a Nazi Swastika sewn into the breast. That was the first thing Harry got rid of when he reached his room, using the little manicure set in the bedside table, he snipped at the threads of the embroidery and laboriously pulled them all out. That done he shrugged into it and checked his reflection in the mirror. He was practically drowning in it but it kept him wonderfully warm.

Taking it off, he stowed it inside his Moke Skin bag and decided to just forego his trunk and put everything in it, it would be easier than lugging the large wooden box around like he used to, and he got the feeling that any Orphanage he showed up at hauling a trunk full of a cauldron, broomstick and spell books would get a little bit alarmed.

Kicking open his trunk, he unpacked the essentials first.

Firebolt, photo album, Invisibility Cloak, Weasley Jumpers, Broomstick Servicing Kit, owl treats, and the flute Hagrid gave him in his first year. They were all carefully stowed away in his bag before Harry turned to his books, cauldron, Potion Ingredients, telescope and clothes. Cauldron and Potion ingredients went next along with his telescope. Clothes were split up, he hunted for the best of Dudley's Cast Offs, his warmest cloaks and put them all in his bag, leaving the less than desirable clothing in his trunk. He left the books as well, save for the ones about Potions, Herbology and Magical Creatures. He didn't want to make any accidents with his Potion Brewing so the more he knew about the animals and plants he was using the less likely he was to make mistakes. If what he remembered from the very rudimentary Chemistry lessons he got in Year 6 at Junior School, and they _were_ very rudimentary given that the Classrooms weren't purposely designed for each subject and Bunsen Burners and expensive and dangerous chemicals weren't allowed in the school where six year olds (Year 3's) could get their fingers into them.

He had just closed his trunk and put his bag on to test whether the weightlessness charms were working properly when he heard a raucous kick off downstairs.

Frowning, Harry got to his feet, completely forgetting about the feather light bag hanging over his shoulder, and crept out into the hall.

It was Mr Tom and he was arguing with someone.

"– not letting you take a step further!" He sounded angry. Angrier than Harry had ever heard him before.

"Mr Tom?" he called, jogging down the stairs, "Are you alright?"

"Stay where you are Harry!" Mr Tom hollered, panic creating a raw edge to his voice that far from making Harry stop, made him speed up instead and have to dive under a yet of red light. He hit the floor and rolled gracelessly onto his hands and knees as Mr Tom and an unfamiliar voice started snarling curses at one another.

The man was entirely unfamiliar to Harry, his hair was the colour of faded straw, he was very pale and had a thin slightly gaunt face and freckles, his eyes were intense and wild, they reminded him of Sirius the first time they met face to face. He was stabbing his wand at Mr Tom with a savage glee on his face as he threw rather unpleasantly coloured spells at the older man, who obviously recognised them by how quickly he was jumping out of the way.

Harry had to do something, he grabbed the nearest ash tray and flung it like a Frisbee straight into the side of the unfamiliar wizard's head, causing the spell he had just incanted to go wide – and hit Mr Tom anyway. He staggered to the side, shaking his head as if he had water in his ears before looking at Harry with madly popping eyes, he looked disturbingly unhinged as he abruptly started slashing his wand in the fourteen year old's direction.

The former Gryffindor dodged away between the tables of the Leaky as the wood exploded from the vicious curse. Somehow, somehow Harry had to draw this mad man away from the Leaky Cauldron, away from Mr Tom who was unconscious on the floor and a painfully easy target of the clearly insane –

_Dark Mark!_

In a split second, Harry's eyes latched onto the wizard's left arm as he lifted it, his sleeve falling open to reveal the angry red etching, still faded and washed out looking, of a black skull with a green serpent protruding from its mouth in a sick parody of a tongue. Memories from the Quidditch World Cup roared through his mind and he realised he had heard this man's voice before, back in the forest, back when he summoned the Dark Mark to hover over the clearing, back when he used his wand and got Winky fired from the Crouch Household.

He threw another Ashtray as hard as he physically could.

The Death Eater was ready though and Harry ended up having to dive behind another set of tables and chairs as hot shards of glass went flying – he had used some kind of red coloured curse to make it explode in midair.

Harry closed his eyes in panic, he had no wand, how was he supposed to get out of this!

"_Confringo!_" The exploding curse again! Harry darted out into the open but to his dismay there was no curse as the Death Eater yelled in glee, "_Crucio!_" aiming a violently red curse at him, one that made Harry's stomach flip even at this distance. He dropped bonelessly to the floor, the spell soaring over head, making his hair sizzle and burn as it struck the doorframe and exploded, taking a large chunk out of the wood.

Harry stared at the mad looking man as he crouched, green eyes locking with the other man's curiously colourless grey eyes as they twitched and bulged out of his skull. He kept licking his lips and baring his teeth, seemingly having no awareness of the fact that he was now drooling on top of everything else – whatever this Death Eater wanted with him, Harry was quite certain he would not like it and he had absolutely no intention of allowing it to happen.

Something white slammed into the side of the Death Eater's head with a screech and a spurt of vibrant red blood, he screamed and Harry realised it was Hedwig. Hedwig who had raked her talons down the man's face and ripped out one of his eyes.

He roared in pain, swearing and trying to throw her off.

He aimed his wand, poorly, and Harry acted.

The former Gryffindor lunged forward and grabbed Hedwig's leg, yanking her away from the Death Eater and allowing the spell – which looked rather a bit like mustard coloured lightning – to barely singe her feathers as he drew the Owl against his chest and rammed his shoulder against the door leading into Muggle London.

"Stay quiet Hedwig, for the love of god, please stay quiet," he whispered frantically as he darted into the crowd of early morning commuters, hyper aware of the Leaky Cauldron's door being thrown open by the Death Eater, his face bloody, his eyeball hanging out of its socket by a thin tendon – and several muggles screaming and shouting in horror at the sight of him. Then screaming in panic and pain as he started to curse them, shouting his name and using his one good eye to desperately find him amidst the crowds of panicking muggles.

Harry darted down into the nearby tube-station, running through all the people, using his smaller size and thinner form to slip between people, heading sight under the road and up the stairs where he kept running. Down the street he kept running, without rest of stop until he reached Victoria Tower Gardens where he slowed to a walk and finally half collapsed on a bench, shaking violently and hugging Hedwig as firmly as possible without hurting her.

It took him a few minutes to calm down and catch his breath, he gently released the rather ruffled looking Snowy Owl and gently began to straighten her feathers as best he could.

"Sorry about that Hedwig," he rasped, he really needed a drink, "You're alright though, aren't you?" he asked worriedly, gently smoothing his hands down her body to find any injuries he couldn't see, he paid no mind to the blood that turned her gorgeous white feathers to pink.

She hooted soothingly and nibbled a little at his fingers, letting him know in her own way that she was fine and she wasn't upset with him. He stayed like that for almost an hour, slowly feeling the adrenaline from that fight and flight wear off, leaving him feeling rather cold and miserable if he was completely honest with himself. Was he truly so helpless without a Wand? He couldn't even help Mr Tom! He'd made things worse for the kindly bartender – he would have to go back tomorrow to make sure he was alright and to pay for the damages to the bar.

He shivered and carefully set his feathered friend beside him on the bench, ignoring the stares he received for having a real, honest to god, Snowy Owl beside him as he withdrew his second hand jacket from the bottomless bag. He was glad he had forgotten to take it off earlier otherwise he would be freezing right now. November in England was never very pleasant. He wrapped his neck in his Gryffindor scarf and pulled on the battered gloves.

"C'mon Hedwig, we'd better find a good doorstep for the night."

He had, of course, slept rough before. If he wasn't in by a certain time then the Dursleys had an unpleasant habit of locking him out, leaving him to either sleep in the park or find a good alley way – because if he attempted to sleep in the garden they would call the police and tell them that he was trying to break into next door so put him in a prison cell for the night to teach him a lesson. The police had, by this point in time he hoped, figured out that all was not right with the Dursley household but there was rarely any reason for them to be in the area and everyone thought well of them and poorly of Harry so it was impossible to prove anything. But their treatment of him was close to what one could call kind so they obviously had their suspicions.

Anyway.

Hedwig took to the air and Harry took to the streets, searching for a good place to curl up under his cloak. He stopped briefly at a Gregg's to get a steak bake and an iced ring doughnut before continuing on, they were both very good, definitely worth the £1.98 he paid for them.

He eventually found a good place, the smell could have been much better but he couldn't exactly be very choosy when looking for a safe place to sleep. It was behind a gym, a little sheltered section under a fire escape, difficult to squeeze into with the wheely-bin pushed right beneath it but there was room enough for Harry to make himself comfortable – withdrawing Dudley's old cast offs and using them as a kind of mattress and wrapping himself in two of his cloaks. Hedwig hooted disapprovingly as she waddled in beside him and took residence on his lap.

"Sorry Hedwig, this is the best we've got right now. Tomorrow, when we go back to the Leaky, I'll ask Mr Tom to get you a big fat rat for dinner, how's that?" he asked her as he leaned against the wall behind him. She hooted approvingly and, without anything to do until the end of the day, Harry took out a potions book and started to read.

He ended up falling asleep before the sun went down.

* * *

The next morning, Harry woke up as sunlight filled the world – far too early in his opinion but he had slept well, regardless of the uncomfortable surfaces. Hedwig had already taken off in search of her breakfast and Harry's bum was so cold it felt almost wet as he got to his feet and began to pack away his clothing – keeping the scarf, gloves and jacket on as he crawled out into the light.

He stretched and pushed against the small of his back until he heard a very satisfying series of pops and felt his spine shift a little bit. That felt better. Right. Breakfast and then the Leaky Cauldron to see Mr Tom and get his Trunk.

Gregg's was surprisingly open at this hour (7am) so Harry quite happily got himself a breakfast bun of sausage, bacon and fried egg plus a can of diet coke – he preferred the flavour, the full fat kind left an unpleasant fuzzy film over his teeth and tongue. Add to that, Dudley hated Diet so it was the only kind of coke the Dursleys would ever let Harry have if they had to give him any. He pretended to hate it but he did actually quite like it.

He ate his breakfast as he walked up to Charing Cross, he had ended up running quite a distance yesterday so it took some time and gave Harry an opportunity to explore a bit of London, he had only ever been to Kings Cross and the Magic Quarters. He would give it this, it was very busy.

Japanese Tourists in their anoraks with their cameras, pointing at everything and taking pictures, giggling with excitement. Business men and women marching forth-rightly through the crowds, determined to get where they were going and wielding briefcase and umbrella with expert skill to make sure it happened. Harried mothers trying to keep their children together while on their way to school or where ever it was they were going, Harry didn't think there was any living accommodations this far into the city, he thought it was all businesses. Teachers and students on day trips to London. Art Students from college or university drawing. Street performers looking to make a little bit of spare change, Harry took a moment to stop and watch a young woman tie herself into a pretzel. That was creepy. Having witnessed what happened to a limb when there were no bones in it, he could imagine that what she was doing would be something that someone who had no spine would be capable of doing. He never understood the appeal to Contortion-ism, or in general, very bendy people – Dudley drooled over the idea of a bendy girlfriend enough that Harry had some idea about how it was desirable but he still didn't quite understand _why_.

The street outside the Leaky Cauldron was quiet and he could feel a kind of tense charge in the air as he approached, there was blood and broken glass on the concrete and he swallowed hard, remembering the mess Hedwig had made out of that Death Eater's face. He hoped the man hadn't hurt anyone when he lost his temper, the Ministry should have been on the scene fairly quickly if Harry's own experiences with their anal retentiveness regarding the Statute of Secrecy was anything to go by.

Taking a deep breath, Harry paused briefly and pulled up his scarf, so it was over his mouth and nose and took his new glasses off. It wasn't a perfect disguise but enough people would look away when they realised he wasn't wearing glasses – after all, everyone knew Harry Potter wore glasses.

He pushed the door open and stepped inside.

The place was fairly packed today, he could hear them all talking about yesterday and the events of the Triwizard Tournament, Harry's voluntary expulsion, the attack on Mr Tom who was trying to protect him from a Death Eater – how he was still in St Mungo's Spell Damage Ward, Harry cringed and quickly hurried over to the Bar where a rather anxious looking little witch with curly brown hair was serving Lucius Malfoy something bright red and smoking. He was talking to a man in a heavy cloak and deep hood.

"What can I get you lovie? Access to the Alley?" the Witch behind the bar asked, smiling kindly down at him.

"Ah, no, no thank you. I heard about Mr Tom. Is he alright?" he asked, pitching his voice to be higher than it was – he didn't like the look of the man Malfoy Sn was talking to.

"He'll be fine, the healers at St Mungo's are the best, my Lad," she assured him.

Harry nodded and slid a fistful of Galleons across the counter, "The Bar was damaged, these are for Mr Tom, as a thank you and an apology. Could you tell him that I'm sorry?" he pleaded and for a moment the Witch seemed stunned and then confused before realisation lit her features. She looked like she was about to reveal him before a quick paranoid glance at Mr Malfoy closed her mouth faster than a Firebolt in a dive.

"Of course I will, Lovie. No you'd best run along now. This is no place for you," she told him firmly, her eyes darting back to Mr Malfoy and the cloaked man who shifted, seeming to realise her attention on him as he lifted the brim of his hood and leered down at Harry with only one eye.

His blood ran cold as he realised that this was the crazy Death Eater from yesterday.

He didn't seem to recognise him and instead turned back to his conversation with Mr Malfoy, Harry turned away from the bar, giving the little witch a wave as he heard the two talking. He heard his name, the Goblet, Moody and finally the Dark Lord's Return.

His stomach flipped and he left the bar as quickly as he could without drawing attention to himself.

Back in Muggle London, he ran.

He ran as far and as fast as he could, over a bridge and onto the other side of London, vanishing into the crowds of tourists waiting to get onto the London Eye and finally into the back streets, a rat warren of cobbled alleyways, bins, trucks and the back of restaurants.

Hedwig swooped down and landed on his shoulder with a hoot of concern and Harry finally came to a stop. He looked up at his best friend and smiled a little wanly, "Sorry Hedwig, Mr Tom is in the hospital. He won't be able to give you any big rats today..." he trailed off as the full reality of his situation finally hit home.

He was alone, weaponless, homeless, vulnerable, on the streets of London with Death Eaters on his tail.

He could never go back to Diagon Alley again. He could never be spotted by a Magical person again. He needed to drop off the radar, he needed to become invisible, unknown... He needed to become someone else entirely and he needed to do it ASAP.

Green eyes met amber and Hedwig clamped her talons down on his shoulder with a stubborn hoot.

Any idea of telling her to go and stay with the Weasleys was killed with that single defiant gesture – she wasn't going to leave him now, not when he needed her most, not when he was so defenceless. She had saved his life once already, what if he needed her again and she wasn't there? Hedwig wasn't going to leave him unless it was to get her own dinner.

He smiled and stroked her breast feathers, "Looks like it's you and me against the world, huh girl?"

She hooted.

* * *

**And finished. This chapter was pretty difficult to write. It just wouldn't COME if you know what I mean. I blame Harry and that fight against Barty Jr, it's so difficult for me to write a fight where Harry couldn't fight back, physically or magically. I hope it was realistic though.**

**Next chapter should be written soon and please give love to my ever patient and currently sleep deprived beta: **Stalker of Stories,** give her love ladies and gentlemen, give her love.**

**Reviews keep the plotbunnies producing so please, feed the plotbunnies and give me your opinions.**

Araceil.


	3. Forging

**Will to Live**

* * *

**CHAPTER THREE**

**Forging**

* * *

Yobs were becoming an increasing problem. Harry grunted as another kick impacted his stomach, he would have thrown up if he had anything in his stomach to throw up but as it stood, all he could do was curl into a ball and cough in pain as the gang of twelve or so teenagers with shaved heads and nasty gleams in their eyes laughed trollishly. It wasn't difficult for Harry to look at them and realise that this was what Dudley would grow up to be in a few years, no matter what Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia said about him being a respectable young man. He wondered how many of these '_misunderstood_' and '_angry at the system that created them_' teenagers came from fairly well off middle-class families with enough money to buy the designer labels on their velvet velour tracksuits.

"Not going to beg, trash?" one of them demanded, taking a long draw on a handmade cigarette – a cigarette that smelled too sweet to be tobacco. "Ain't got nuffin' to say?"

Harry coughed as he forced himself to his feet, uncurling his body painfully as he stood to his full, decidedly unimpressive, height and smirked at them. A few of them exchanged wary glances at this, evidentially he wasn't behaving in the way that a hobo being beaten on by a gang of twelve should be.

"Just one thing," he said, fighting to keep his voice pleasant. His eyes flicked upwards and he smiled, "BANZAI!" he shouted as loudly as he could, making the gang jump violently and one to spill his can of cheap beer.

Harry shot off between them, running hard and fast as Hedwig slammed into the back of one thug's head with an almighty screech of feathered fury.

Panic erupted amidst the Yobs and Harry kept running, wheezing and laughing as he forced his battered body to keep moving.

Three streets away and safely sequestered behind a wheelie-bin outside the back entrance of a Chinese Takeaway Harry slid down the wall and laughed so hard it hurt, he took a deep breath as he finally calmed down, Hedwig fluttering down to land on the bin he was hidden behind with a smug hoot of satisfaction. It only made Harry laugh harder until the pain in his stomach forced him to stop. Lifting his sweater and clothes, Harry eyed the blossoming purple bruise across his stomach with an appreciative eye, those guys knew how to kick, he would give them that. He would probably have bruises up his shins and thighs and littered across his back as well, those guys hadn't spared much of him save his feet hands and skull. He guessed even they wouldn't completely brutalise a homeless child.

He dropped his clothing and chuckled painfully, that was almost fun.

* * *

Winter was a bitch.

Harry shivered miserably, curled up in a John Lewis Car Park, he figured he would be safe here where he couldn't get wet and he was at least a little bit protected from the harsh wind outside. But he couldn't come here again tomorrow, after tonight the police will have been rung and if he showed up tomorrow they would attempt to nab him, this he knew from experience after he stayed for almost a week in one of the ASDA car parks. Evidentially, no one liked the idea of children sleeping rough and now that he was known to the police as '_the little dark haired boy with the owl_'. If anyone caught sight of him, the police would be onto him the moment the call was made. They were quite determined to see him put somewhere safe and off the streets.

Either way, he thought as he pulled his cloaks more snugly around him, not daring to move any more than that because Hedwig had decided to claim the little niche against his stomach as her bed for the horrible night, it didn't make his circumstances any easier and he was _not_ going into the system. The other homeless kids had told him some exceptionally unpleasant stories about the various Orphanages and Foster Carers they had been forced to experience before they ran away. Those stories had effectively killed his '_Go to an Orphanage under a false identity_' plan, he had no intention of escaping the Dursleys only to end up somewhere just as bad, if not _worse_, than they were.

Harry had considered sticking with the gang of homeless kids for a while, they seemed to have a good support system amongst themselves, but the moment stealing and mugging was mentioned, he gracefully bowed out and went on his way. He didn't want to get caught up in that and he knew that most of the kids were using their ill gotten money to pay for their growing drug addictions. Addictions that were only encouraged by the adults and then enhanced to the point of hopeless debt until they had to sell themselves just to get enough money to pay off their debts and support their addiction.

Harry decided to steer clear of Drug Dealers, Addicts and Pimps after hearing one of the girls, Hazel, explaining about the child prostitution ring that she fled from, she trembled non-stop, suffering from withdrawal as she tried to get over her Heroine addiction cold turkey, "_You would've been a High Earner. Punters would have paid through the nose to fuck you just for those eyes alone,_" she explained with a sour smile, her clear sapphire eyes dull and tired. Hazel was only thirteen, she had been shipped into England from Ukraine when she was seven and worked the streets ever since.

The world was a harsh and cruel place to children without protection.

* * *

It was Christmas.

It was Christmas and Harry was, for once, warm and well fed.

Someone had spread word of a Soup Kitchen and a warm place to sleep for the night and Harry had gone along out of a desire to eat than get a nice spot to sleep – he had already begun to make himself a little hovel, it was waterproof and when the Bar was open and the heating on, the vents over his head were very warm so there was little chance of him freezing to death in his cloaks, leather coat and nest of newspaper, plastic bags and Dudley's cast offs. It was hidden from sight as well so no one would be running him off or beating on him like those Yobs.

Either way, the Soup Kitchen was very nice, the lady behind the counter had smiled warmly at him and given him an extra helping of Christmas Turkey and Pigs in Blankets. It wasn't as good as a Hogwarts Dinner but it was damn close and he was too hungry to care much about how he hated mushy peas, he just ate them anyway.

The lady from behind the Counter sat down opposite him and pushed a slice of marble cake towards him before she sat back and drank her hot chocolate, obviously on her break. Harry found it a little creepy that her attention was so fixed on him while she tried so hard not to make it seem so that he almost didn't want to eat the cake – just in case it was drugged or something. He'd heard stories about that as well though none of them said it took place at a Soup Kitchen, it was always creepy old men on street corners – he had been told to steer clear of them and even he wasn't dumb enough to accept food from strangers.

"What's your name, Sweetie?" the lady finally asked, smiling at him. Harry eyed her suspiciously, she had that sad, pitying look that told him that she wanted to help him, to save him.

He swallowed his slice of cake slowly as he considered her question, she waited patiently, apparently familiar with homeless children enough that she didn't push and let him decide whether or not to trust her in his own time. He wondered how many she had seen, and how many of them she had actually been able to help.

"Silver," Harry decided, no one would connect that to Harry Potter, Gryffindor Golden Boy. "Just Silver," he told her firmly when he saw her open her mouth as if to question him on his real name.

She smiled, "Alright Silver, do you have a Gang taking care of you then?" she asked soothingly.

Harry shook his head, "No. Just me and Hedwig."

"Hedwig? A girlfriend?" the woman asked, smiling teasingly at him.

Harry wrinkled his nose, "More like a mother. She's my owl," he explained. He had been on the streets for almost two months and even he had picked up on the fact that people always thought he was far younger than he really was, and they were a lot more likely to be nicer to a ten-year-old boy than a fourteen-year-old. "She's out hunting right now," he admitted when he caught the woman's eyes move skyward as if expecting to see her perched on the light fixtures.

"Ah." The woman seemed to be at a loss for words as she sipped her drink further, Harry shrugged it off and returned to his cake.

* * *

"C'mon son, let's get you somewhere safe."

Harry shook violently, staring at the dead body in front of him as a kindly sounding police officer tried to escort him away. It had been an accident, he hadn't meant to do it, he hadn't wanted to kill him, it had been an accident. He was beginning to hyperventilate and his vision was going black at the edges.

It was New Years Eve.

A drunk had found him sleeping in a doorway and decided that, since he had been unable to pull that night, he would just take his frustrations out on a random homeless kid no one would care about – he was probably a whore anyway. And that was what the former Gryffindor woke up to, some drunk reeking of Whiskey with his trousers down his ankles grabbing at him. Harry panicked, kicking out at him, but he was small and malnourished, weak. The hits did absolutely nothing to the drunk who was so far gone he didn't even feel them as he managed to wrestle the now screaming Harry down onto the pavement.

The man grabbed his neck, growling at him to shut up and take it like the slut he was, the smell of burning flesh was making Harry choke but he seemed to be the only one who noticed the man's hand blistering, like Quirrel's in his first year, as he flailed around and grabbed the nearest hard object – a brick – and slammed it with as much force as he could muster against the drunk's skull. Corner first.

He jerked and collapsed on top of the fourteen year old just as several hands reached out and hauled him off the traumatised child who quickly scrambled away, clutching his brick for dear life as he huddled in the corner of his doorstep, hiccupping as tears poured down his face. It was the police, they had heard him screaming and come onto the scene just in time to witness Harry nearly get strangled and hit the man in the head with his brick.

The drunk wasn't moving.

He wasn't moving and there was blood running down his face.

* * *

Harry glared as hard as he physically could at the Social Worker sat in front of him, the man had dark grey hair that was severely parted and a thin toothbrush-y moustache, he looked rather a bit like Mr Crouch but his skin was more tanned and his jaw was less pronounced and his nose rounder, his eyes were green too. He was looking at Harry as if he were something he had just scraped off the bottom of his shoe even as he tried to smile engagingly at him.

The former Gryffindor allowed himself to sneer at the man, he wasn't fooling him for even a split second – the pretentious jackass.

* * *

Foster Care. Not an Orphanage but Foster Care.

Harry seethed as he watched his Social Worker speak to the kindly seeming woman and her husband, this was going to be his new home – apparently – but having experience with the Dursleys and being inherently suspicious and capable of reading people, Harry didn't like what he was seeing.

The garden was too neat, as if someone spent four hours a day on it, the car was far too expensive for a Middle Class Family and it was practically gleaming with fresh wax. What he could see of inside the house was just as grim, not a single hair or dust-bunny, not a magazine or junk mail to be seen and the ornaments were in perfect order and just as spotless. He could see just a sliver of the kitchen and it too looked spotless – a germophobe's wet dream.

Then there was the couple themselves.

Husband was thin and lanky with wiry muscle, he had dishwater blond hair and a weedy face, his eyes were twitchy too, they kept flickering to Harry, his face, his hands, his neck and legs, his lips would twitch and his laugh would be a shade forced, ringing from his throat instead of his chest. His clothing was Primark and Harry could see some sauce stains on it from what had to be his breakfast earlier. The woman though, her hair was sleek and stylish, her skin a handsome olive colour and her eyes warm and chocolate in colour, she was beautiful, but her smile was... unsettling. Her voice reminded him of honeyed scorpion venom. Her clothing was very expensive and her nails perfectly manicured.

They looked like a model couple.

And Harry was instantly suspicious of them. He hoped he was just being paranoid though.

* * *

He wasn't.

Mr and Mrs Cotrel had put him to work as soon as his belongings were stowed away in the attic, evidentially, he was the only Foster Child at the moment but there were more beds up there that suggested he would soon be looking at having some '_guests_'. At least he got an actual bed, if he was honest, this place was already five stars better than Privet Drive – he was too big to comfortably fit into the cupboard under the stairs anymore, he could if he had to, it would just be uncomfortable. Christ he really was a tiny bastard wasn't he?

They were forcing him into Muggle School as well.

Harry hummed from where he was sprawled out across the grass in the back garden, Hedwig balanced on his knee having finally returned from her hunting trip. "A fine mess we're in, my lovely," the teenager murmured to her.

* * *

It was strange.

He thought that school would be the same old, same old, but it wasn't. It just seemed absolutely pointless now. Everything about it. Maths, who the fuck used it beyond addition and subtraction to figure out how much loose change they had, fractions were useful, he would give them that. But all this SohCahToa and Hypotenuse, Adjacent and Vertical was just _pointless_. English was a pain as well, who gave a crap about poetry? Poetry wasn't going to help you in later life no matter WHO wrote it.

Word had managed to get out that he was once a Homeless kid and now people were either treating him like he had a disease, was the coolest thing since smoking, was a psycho or belonged back in a dumpster. Either way, they were all kids, children, Harry ignored them entirely.

He ate outside with Hedwig, ignoring anyone who might approach him or try to speak to him.

He would be leaving eventually, depending on what happened with the Cotrels.

* * *

"So, what's it like?" The girl was pudgy, her hair was brown and a little greasy, she wore thick framed black and purple glasses and she had green eyes. Her name was Jennifer McGunn and she had been tasked to help Harry in his English lessons. She was one of the few people he actually liked in his new school, she was a bit more perceptive than the others and she left him to it, she always seemed to be drawing and had her head up in the clouds. The teachers were constantly confiscating her sketch book and assigning her detention for her absent minded doodling – having seen the state of her exercise books, Harry thought this was a bad idea since she was obviously drawing where ever she could when said sketch book was unavailable.

Right now, they were using a memory and writing a story around it.

Jennifer claimed that nothing exciting had ever happened in her life except the one time she went camping in Canada and woke up in the middle of the night to witness a wolf pack howling in the valley below her. Apparently wolves were her favourite animals if the wolf's head pendent around her neck was any indication. He hadn't seen her without it to date and he had been in the school for over a month now.

So, for lack of anything she could contribute to their task, and Harry was unwilling to give anything away about his time with either the Dursleys or at Hogwarts, he offered his months out on the streets.

"Cold," Harry admitted, looking out of the window, "Tense too. Kind of... restless. It's difficult to explain."

Jennifer nodded thoughtfully without looking at him as she wrote the words down, "Well, just give me a handful of words, I'll brainstorm and then show you what I have and we can work on something together, yeah? I'll write, your grammar is horrible."

He watched her write, absently noting that she had very delicate little hands and gracefully curved writing, he supposed it came from drawing all the time but even her handwriting was beautiful. She did have very clever hands, he had seen a few sculptures she had made in the Reception area of the school, a clay model of a Chinese Dragon – it actually looked a lot like a real Chinese Fireball.

Absently, his eyes trailed away from her hands, noting the fact that she had a freckle on the back of her right hand. She was chubby and in a rather unflattering way with her legs being rather short and her body rather long. But, for a fourteen year old, she had more on top than most of the Seventh Year girls in Hogwarts he supposed. Still. Her face was rather pretty if he was honest with himself.

Very pretty, actually.

She was pale but not unhealthily so with long dark eyelashes and a delicately shaped nose, pale freckles patterning her cheeks and forehead. She chewed her lower lip when she was thinking...

Harry quickly pulled his eyes away, feeling his face growing warm.

* * *

More and more often, Harry found his eyes lingering on Jenny at school and he always felt awkward and clumsy around her, and even when he wasn't he was always paranoid that she was around and might see him do something stupid and at the same time, he hoped she was just in case he did or said something cool.

By this point he had managed to figure out that he liked her as more than just a friend.

But she was completely oblivious and actually a little dense when it came to people, it was almost cute how naïve she was about the people around her, as well as incredibly frustrating. Harry had wanted to more than once shake her by the shoulders and shout at her, tell her that her so called best friend Lauren was a bitch who was just using her to make herself look prettier, the Art Teacher was jealous which was why she was so verbally abusive and that he liked her along with two other guys in their Science class and a girl from their P.E. Class.

But he didn't, mainly because it would frighten her.

It still didn't stop him from studying her whenever the opportunity presented itself, though he tried very hard to make sure no one noticed. It was a shame that he wasn't very good at it.

* * *

Harry folded his arms and glared up at Mr Cotrel, the man was practically foaming at the mouth because Harry had been sent to the Headmaster's office for fighting. One of the boys had to be transferred to the local General Hospital to get his shoulder popped back into place. Stupid bastard shouldn't have hit Jenny when she tried to break the fight up, the bastard had punched her in the face and Harry had snapped, grabbing his outstretched arm and twisting it harshly while kicking his feet out from under him. Using his own weight to wrench his arm out of its socket.

"When someone picks a fight with me," Harry broke in loudly, glaring firmly at the older man's face and silencing his blustering Vernon-esque rant short, "I fight back. And I don't hold back. Regardless of how small, or _big_ they are," he explained darkly, green eyes narrowing intensely on Mr Cotrel. If the man picked a fight, then Harry was going to fight back because no one else was going to defend him.

The streets taught him that much.

* * *

It was Summer, and Harry was back in London, back to sleeping on doorsteps and begging for food – occasionally working for it. He was sad about having to leave but the Cotrels' had been getting more and more vehement about his behaviour and when he mentioned Jenny it only got worse, apparently they phoned her parents and she got into trouble. She hadn't been upset with him but when he saw the bruise on her cheek from where the boy had hit her he felt something in his stomach clench painfully.

He ran away the next day.

He avoided the police like the plague, ducked into a Superdrug to get some hair dye – he'd run into a wizard not long after he escaped the Cotrels' and couldn't risk going back to the Magical World where everyone would be trying to kill him. Half an hour later in a Public toilet Harry was using one of Dudley's old T-shirts to dry his new vivid red hair, now, when he looked at himself in the mirror, he no longer saw a clone of James, but rather someone who looked a lot more like Lily.

Everyone spent their time looking for James in him that they never realised that Harry's face was pure Lily... The red hair only made that far more pronounced now.

* * *

"What's the difference between them?" Harry asked, green eyes alight with interest and fascination as he watched the other boys run and jump around him.

Kaleb grinned, watching the kid's eyes before glancing over to his brother Tim who was busy adjusting his gloves.

"Well, Parkour is getting from point A to point B in the shortest amount of time possible. Every movement is economised to increase speed and conserve energy. Freerunning, is more difficult because it's essentially the same thing but with a lot more _presentation_." Harry glanced up at Kaleb, he had said that word with a great deal of relish, looking as though he enjoyed the way it tasted on his tongue. "It takes a lot more strength and muscle control to flip over something instead of jump over it," he explained and Harry's mouth made a little '_o_' of understanding.

"And what they're doing is..." he trailed off, pointing to where one boy in a grey T-shirt had just cartwheeled off the side of a wall without using his hands.

"Freerunning," Kaleb confirmed. The grubby kid was cool, it was easy to see that he was homeless but he was sweet in that cute little lost kitten kind of way, "Tell you what, we're here pretty much every day practising. Weekdays it's in the afternoons, four O'clock onwards. Weekends we're here at about ten in the morning. Why don't you come along and we'll see about teaching you a little bit?"

"You'd do that?" Harry asked, looking up at him with wide eyes, he roughly pushed his glasses back onto the bridge of his nose, "What's the catch? What do you want in return?" he demanded suspiciously.

Kaleb laughed, holding his hands up defensibly, "Nothing that you can't give I assure you. We're always on the look out for good practice spots but London's a big place and a lot of us don't know it as well as we wish we could. You show us good spots whenever you find them and we'll teach you how to Freerun. Deal?"

Harry pursed his lips, eyeing the seventeen-year-old with curly his electric blue hair before nodded, "Deal." He slapped the other teenager's hand and they shook firmly. Sealing the deal.

* * *

He loved Freerunning. It was as close to flying as he could get in London.

Once upon a time ago Harry would have been able to run the length and breadth of Little Whinging three times before having to stop and rest, now, he could manage all that and more. After a while... he grew to like running _more _than flying. His lungs burning, his hands throbbing, his blood singing. He loved it. He loved the fact that it was _him_, he was the one that was surpassing these obstacles not a toothpick with a couple of magic charms on it, he was the one who was leaping from tall objects, twisting and finding his feet, feeling that one breathless moment of sweet weightlessness, of freedom as he soared through the air. He grew to appreciate the burn of his muscles, the feeling of them shifting and carrying him, how when he finished a particularly long or difficult run he would collapse on the grass beside Kaleb, Tim and the others, feeling boneless and good as they passed around a bottle of water and caught their breath. Talking lazily to one another until they felt recovered enough to get back up and do it again, perhaps this time even playing a game like tag – that was Harry's favourite.

Sure there were a few _nasty_ falls, bruises and cuts, grazes that oozed unpleasantly but scabbed over quickly enough, his hands, already calloused from holding a wand or a broom all the time became rougher and tougher. His awareness of his surroundings increased as he ran and, as he became more aware of the people he ran _with_, found his eyes lingering on a certain teenager with curly electric blue hair.

* * *

It had been five months since Harry met Kaleb and his Freerun gang. Autumn was slowly fading into winter and Harry found himself spending more and more time alone with Kaleb. It seemed like every time he turned around the blue haired teenager was there with a cocky grin on his mouth suggesting they go and test out some new construction site or the rat warren of business centres at the Industrial Park.

At first, Harry thought nothing of it, then he began to notice the smirks on the faces of the rest of the group, how they shook their heads whenever Kaleb hovered next to him during their cool-downs. He saw Tim rolling his eyes and snickering to himself more than once. He then began to wonder if Kaleb was getting into his personal space on purpose before forcibly shoving the thought away, everyone else had probably already noticed that he fancied the pants off the blue haired teenager. Hermione always told him he wore his heart on his sleeve so it must have been rather easy to see. Especially when Harry – or rather Silver as he was known to them – would always be quick to avoid a collision with the blue haired male whenever the others knew he purposely attempted to knock into him.

Still, Harry couldn't help but hope. Even just a little bit.

* * *

"Will you be alright?" Kaleb asked, his forehead creasing as he frowned down at the now fifteen-year-old.

"What do you mean?" asked Harry, sipping at his bottle of water, arching a thin eyebrow at the older teenager.

"I mean it's Winter. Are you gonna be alright sleeping rough? Met office said it's going to snow pretty harshly this year," he pointed out, his voice coloured with enough concern that Harry's stomach squirmed painfully at the realisation that yes, he cared. Kaleb hopped down and sat beside him, accepting the bottle of water as the dark red haired male handed it to him.

"I'll be fine. I did it last year pretty easy. St James' has a Soup Kitchen running on Christmas Eve and Day, they've got beds they're willing to give to those in need. As for the rest, well, I have a little place. It's behind a bar so the nights won't be too cold, their heating vent is literally right above my head so I'll be nice and warm. As for the food, this is the best time of year for scavenging. People throw out so much shit that I'll be jiggling when I walk come January," he explained with what he hoped was a reassuring grin.

Kaleb didn't look happy.

He was frowning as he set his water bottle aside, "Syl, I know Tim's offered before, but I'm offering now. Are you sure you don't want to come and stay with us? I've already asked my mum and dad, they'd be thrilled to have you, even if it's just for the holidays," he explained, his voice oddly desperate as he leaned into Harry's personal space again. The former Gryffindor sighed and shook his head.

"I told you, Christmas is a time for family, I don't want to intrude and it would mean a lot more work for your parents. Thank you, Kaleb, but no, I can't." The blue haired teenager looked angry for a moment before he forcibly calmed himself down, slinging an arm over Harry's shoulder and pulling him close.

"When I get a hold of those fuckers who gave you that inferiority complex, I'm going to rip them a new one. Until then, you _will_ be staying with me-" Harry spluttered, trying to pull away only to have Kaleb's arm tighten around him and his voice rise to drown out any protests he may have had, "and the family and stuffing yourself with Roast Pork and letting me do unspeakably cruel and unusual things to your innocent little safe."

"Innocent?" Harry continued to splutter, Kaleb grinned down at him and he suddenly got the feeling he should be a little more concerned about this '_unspeakably cruel and unusual things_' he had planned. "What do you mean by cruel and unusual?" he asked warily, leaning away slightly.

He hummed thoughtfully, "Well, for one, forcing you to take a proper bath for once." Harry flushed darkly, he washed! It wasn't like there was an abundance of showers that you could use down a back alley! He made do with wet wipes and the sink in the man's bathroom – with some shampoo of course – and it had worked just fi-, alright, fuck it, he wanted a damn hot shower and if agreeing to stay with Kaleb and Tim for the holidays got him there he didn't care what evil the older boy had planned. "Another would possibly be washing those clothes. And lastly, and it all depends on how you answer my next question."

"Well, it doesn't look like I'm getting out of it so you may as well ask," the fifteen year old told him when the blue haired teen paused for dramatic effect.

Kaleb grinned, "Will you go out with me?"

* * *

Kaleb's mum was a very large woman with blonde hair that was going silver and white at the roots, she had a very mannish nose but she was very welcoming and reminded him a bit of Molly Weasley, minus the overbearing attitude. Their dad was Scottish with a full mane of red hair that was beginning to go grey in a very salt and pepperish way, he too was rather rotund but in a way that suggested he used to be rather fit when he was younger but had let himself go in recent years.

The two had treated Harry like a member of the family when they were introduced, Kaleb's mum hugging him and pressing a kiss to his cheek while his dad shook his hand and offered him a drink of coke or lemonade as dinner was about to be served in five minutes. Tim was grinning from his spot on the sofa as he waved to Harry and said, "Finally asked you did he?" Kaleb took this opportunity to throw the TV remote at him while their dad was busy pouring Harry some lemonade.

Five minutes later, just as predicted, their mother called everyone through for Dinner.

There was more than enough for everyone and Harry, who had seen Ron Weasley at a meal, was quite shocked at how much food both Tim and Kaleb were packing away. It was like they both had hollow legs or Expanding charms on their stomachs! Never the less, he followed their example and dug into his beef stew and dumplings – but with perhaps a little more decorum than the other two boys. Their mother shook her head and teased them about how one would think she had never fed them before in their lives. Harry could only grin behind his drink as the two brothers hotly argued that they had been running around all day and needed as much energy as they could get.

Their father, in a very practised move, turned to Harry and asked him about the weather.

* * *

Staying with the Messenger family was great. Kaleb's mum, Allison, was a great cook and Harry learned that she was actually a Solicitor and thus exceptionally smart as she explained to him all the Family Law she knew of – just in case he ever wanted to get his old guardians arrested or sued, y'know, just a thought. Their dad, William, was an Electrician, not quite as high paying as his wife but he preferred doing things with his hands than thinking and speaking and matching wits with people.

Kaleb took after his Dad while Tim took after their Mum in that respect. While Kaleb was willing to get into a physical brawl with his little brother, Tim was much more apt to talking rings around his brother and quickly running away before he got his boxers yanked.

Harry still found it difficult to meet Allison's eyes whenever she asked him if he had slept alright – usually he did but considering how the house only had three rooms, Harry ended up staying with Kaleb who insisted on sharing his bed. It was a bit awkward for Harry who, while staying in a dormitory, found it difficult to actually sleep while someone was using them like a teddybear. He got used to it eventually, even came to enjoy it, the awkward part for him was the kissing and the cuddling. Considering how completely inexperienced Harry was in the field of relationships, he really had no idea what he was doing or how to react to certain comments or actions. Thankfully for him, the other teenager seemed to find it more amusing than annoying.

It was just rather embarrassing for Harry and Tim didn't help when he mercilessly teased the pair of them with the help of his mother. William just peered over his book and told them that they weren't allowed to have sex under his roof before returning to his text while Harry turned dark red, Kaleb groaned and buried his face in his hands while his little brother made gagging sounds and Allison giggled like a schoolgirl.

Either way, it was a very nice Christmas he decided as he curled up against the other male's chest.

* * *

Harry wasn't completely Homeless anymore, Kaleb still carted him off to his parents place and then used him as a personal teddybear – the former Gryffindor had come to the conclusion that Kaleb was a snuggler and physically needed to be hugging something to sleep. He didn't mind being that something, the wake-up calls were very pleasant.

But on other days he sometimes found himself sleeping on the couch of various friends, Adrian, whose parents were loaded, even put him up in his penthouse once. That was... surreal.

Hedwig seemed to have gone from stony disapproval to grudging tolerance of Kaleb who was thoroughly amused by the Owl's stubbornness, he said it reminded him of Harry the first time he tried to talk the smaller boy into a kiss under the mistletoe – in the living room, in front of his parents. The Wizard had quite emphatically refused until Kaleb just kissed him anyway and didn't let him up for air until the smaller teenager stopped fighting him. Hedwig cuffed him with her wig and hooted disapprovingly as she landed lightly on Harry's shoulder.

* * *

Harry raged quietly in his head, nursing his bruised ribs as he sat on the edge of the bathtub, Kaleb wrapping his sprained wrist in bandages while looking close to homicide. The black haired teenager – his new job had forced him to get a natural hair colour or find employment elsewhere – used a plaster to fasten the bandage shut before scooping up his tiny boyfriend and carting him back into his room as he wouldn't be able to walk on his injured ankle. Setting him down on the bed and curling up with him, his hold very delicate as he trailed kisses down the side of the green eyed male's neck.

Harry had been attacked. He had been driven out of his little hovel by a pair of older, meaner and more desperate hobos, drug addicts, who had decided that his little niche was now theirs and anyone who tried to say otherwise was going to be beaten black and blue. Hedwig was the only reason he wasn't suffering broken bones or a concussion or, heaven forbid, knife wounds. She'd swooped on and started clawing at the pair before they could do any real damage to him and Harry had bolted, pausing briefly to grab his bag from where the greasy dark haired one had thrown it – intending to steal anything of value inside and sell it to get his next fix of smack.

The Snowy Owl hooted quietly from the back of Kaleb's desk chair and Harry smiled bitterly.

* * *

"By Law, he cannot stay here."

"I am well aware of that but better here than the Foster system which he ran away from. Does that not tell you something?" Allison argued hotly.

"My opinion doesn't matter, ma'am. I'm sorry but the Law is the Law. He'll have to come with us."

Kaleb gripped Harry's hand hard enough to hurt.

* * *

"_It was Richards, his mum and dad squealed when they found out you were a 'godless scoundrel living on the streets'._"

"Well that's not a very nice thing to say," Harry muttered irritably. Kaleb laughed mirthlessly down the phone.

"_That's the nicest thing they said about you. I believe slut and demon were also mentioned as well as faggot and various other homophobic and derogatory terms..._" There was silence on both sides of the phone line. Harry had been staying with the Messengers' when the police and Social Services showed up having received an anonymous tip off about a homeless child staying with them. Steve Richards, a bit of a Bible Thumper but he was mild compared to his parents who took every word in that goddamn book as Law and treated everyone who didn't as Satan incarnate. And, of course, Harry being both homeless and gay was immediately thought the worst of and they decided to ring the authorities to get the godless son of a whore away from the Messenger family and the friend of their son – whom they were forbidding him from having contact with for being a faggot anyway. Bastards. "_I miss you_," Kaleb told him through the phone.

"Me too, but they're not letting me even leave the house. They're escorting me everywhere for fear that I'll give them the slip again and go back to the streets." Harry seethed over this, it was so unfair, his new Foster Carer was actually a very nice man, former military, who recognised the signs of abuse in Harry quite clearly and knew he had been in fights for his life, so at least he was being treated like an adult. Of course the downside to that is the man wouldn't let him out of his sight – he was being treated like a legitimate risk to his own health. "At least this guy let's me use the phone. The last one didn't."

"_Yeah, that really sucked. Syl, I'm sorry about this, if I knew how Mr and Mrs Richards would have reacted I'd have never told Stevie about – _"

"Don't lie," Harry told him, smiling, "You would have still bragged about us, you would have rubbed it in his face knowing that he was homophobic and made a massive public spectacle of our relationship just to give the poor bastard an aneurysm. You just wouldn't have said that I was staying with you," Harry pointed out with a chuckle.

Kaleb snorted and had to agree, he would have.

* * *

Former Colonel Gabriel Angelis was a pleasant, if firm, old man. He ran the house on a strict timetable and treated the six Foster Children in his care with respect, according to Jocelyn, one of the older girls, he was one of the good ones and if they were lucky, they would stick around with him instead of getting ushered along to someone else. Wake up was at 7am, breakfast at 8am after everyone had washed and dressed, 8:30 was time to leave for school, when you return from school you do your homework then and there, after that you were free to do whatever you wanted until 7pm when Dinner was on the table, cooking and cleaning up duty was done in shifts and even Mr Angelis took part when it was his turn, each age group had their own room to share and overall Lights Out was at 10pm with the younger age groups going to bed between 8pm to 9pm.

Like Jocelyn said, this was one of the better places, Mr Angelis treated them like adults but laid down the law, punishment for breaking it was extra chores and revocation of privileges such as dessert, TV programmes, use of the phone and trips to the Park. He was fair.

Harry still hated it though. He had been on his own for ages now, he used to have a whole city to run and play in, now he was restricted to the house – he wasn't even allowed into the garden for fear that he would hope the fence and do a runner. He tried not to be bitter but when he was fairly suffocated by the restrictions, at least he had school.

He still hated school, now more than ever because the teachers were banging on about GCSE exams and how important they were, how your life hinged on making a B or an A-star. But there was P.E. and lunch and break time. Opportunities to _run_.

Whenever he was let off the 'leash' at school, he instantly took off to stretch his legs, his arms, his back, he often skipped the more pointless classes just to work off his frustrations. The teachers had a go at him and Mr Angelis revoked his phone privileges but Harry _needed_ to run, the old man understood but he firmly stated that he couldn't allow him to skip classes because they were important to his future if he ever wanted to live as a contributing member of society.

Harry quite flatly told him that he couldn't give a shit about Society or the people in it, they had never helped him so why the fuck should he help them?

* * *

He couldn't say he hadn't seen it coming, but it still hurt when Kaleb broke up with him.

Neither of them were the type to handle long-distance relationships very well, the older teenager was very tactile, he needed contact and Harry focused too much on the _now_ because the future was always so uncertain. Without being in each other's presence as much as they used to... feelings waned and other, more interesting things, happened.

It wasn't unexpected. But it still hurt.

* * *

Harry glared viciously at the Social Worker.

Everyone was being moved away from Mr Angelis, split up and sent to different Foster Homes. The old man had gone in for a routine health check at the hospital and come back with the knowledge that he was suffering from Prostate Cancer. It didn't matter that it wasn't terminal, Social Services came and removed the children from his care to '_give him the time and relaxation he needed in his condition_'. They didn't listen to his protests about how the children needed him and how they both helped each other and gave him a reason to get up in the mornings, they just swooped in, handed everyone a bin liner and told them to pack their belongings and follow them.

Harry wanted to choke one of them with their fucking plastic bags. It was bad enough they were leaving Mr Angelis on his own, having so callously thrown him aside just because he was unwell, but now they were not only treating them as cattle to be pushed and pulled around but their belongings like trash – as if that was all they themselves were.

One of the girls couldn't stop crying. Her previous Foster Carer had been sexually abusive to her and she was terrified, the Carer who was escorting her away told her to shut up and stop sobbing. Jocelyn was trying to keep everyone calm but it wasn't working so well because she knew that she was being cut lose, her eighteenth birthday was in four weeks. She was being dropped and everyone was terrified of being separated – despite the fact that it was already happening.

Harry shook his head, sneering bitterly.

* * *

His new Foster Carer was useless, he spent all his time watching TV on the couch, pigging out on doughnuts bought with the money that the Social Care system paid him to take care of Harry and farting. Allowing the apartment around him to turn to shit and trash.

Harry spent all of two nights there before he quite calmly marched out – after raiding the fridge and stealing the man's loaf of bread and block of cheese.

* * *

London was quite a distance away but Harry kept walking, hitchhiking in some cases. He slept on embankments, just out of sight from the Motorway and ate the sweets and water he stole from the petrol stations he passed. Winter was rolling in and even though it was only late October, it had started snowing, gritty haily stuff that was more ice than snow, rain too. Hedwig would often bring back an extra mouse or vole for him to eat and Harry was so hungry most of the time that he didn't complain about it and instead just ate the small rodents.

By the time Harry reached London, that wasn't the case and he was quite sick as well.

Knowing that he would die if he didn't get help soon, he staggered off in the direction of Kaleb and Tim's house, he may not be going out with him but he was still a friend and pretty much the only one he trusted in his current state. But the house was empty when Harry showed up – a For Sale sign standing stark white in the front garden like a death sentence.

Harry huffed raspily as he staggered away, coughing, he grimaced at the palmful of foul looking yellowish green phlem he saw, calmly wiping it off on the wall before gripping at it and panting, trying to draw in more air but somehow not getting enough, wanting to cry and throw a tantrum but knowing it would only make him feel worse and not having the energy to do so as he made his way back to his hovel.

He didn't even get halfway before his legs gave out and he huddled, miserably, against a drain pipe as the world spun around him and Hedwig screeched in concern, nibbling at the fabric of his clothes before taking off, flying away.

Darkness.

* * *

**And chapter three done.**

**I've never lived on the streets in all honesty but (and this may sound odd to some people) I have a habit of befriending various homeless people. I buy them some food and somehow end up getting into a conversation with them and spend upwards of two hours just sitting there and chatting. For those of you wondering why the Order haven't found him... (EVIL SMIRK) I'm keeping my mouth shut on that front.**


	4. Air in my Lungs

**Will to Live**

**This chapter was brought to you by Eristoff Black Vodka – because nothing else could have given me the motivation that getting drunk could.** (I've very tired and sleep deprived right now – also, somewhat hyper on left over biscuits. I'm going to have a killer headache tomorrow morning. And black lips.)

* * *

**CHAPTER FOUR**

**Air in my Lungs**

* * *

The room was dark and depressingly gloomy, the table stretched out before them, waxen half melted candles cast a warm, almost muggy light throughout the area, barely accomplishing the illumination of the faces of those assembled for the darkness of their meeting room was too thick to be penetrated by the weak soft glow of the candle flames.

Each face seemed harsh and tired in the warm glow, deep shadows slashed through their features as men and women turned their faces to the leader, a tall figure in robes with both beard and hair the colour of fresh snow, long and gleaming in the candle light. None of them really paused to take in what they were seeing, more concerned with who, had they, they would have seen how his arm was stiff and incapable of bending, how his brow and the lines on his face were tense with pain, how the subtle scent of rotting flesh and unclean things permeated around him.

"Do we have any information?" the man asked, looking, and feeling, every single one of his many long years.

A haggard looking young man, his eyes gleaming warm brown in the light, dressed in a set of rather patched and frayed, if clean, grey robes stepped forward. "Sirius managed to pick up his scent once or twice in London and again once more in Kent. Its quite clear that he hasn't been using Magic to get around but that's the problem. He's been sticking to the Muggle World and all its forms of transportation, we can't get a good fix on him." The man sighed and rubbed his forehead, "Somehow he's preventing Owls from tracking him as well, I don't understand how though."

"Nor do I, there are no wards, spells or enchantments that I am familiar with that would block even Phoenix Travel to his side," the old man admitted, looking troubled. "Severus?"

A figure, previously hidden, melted out of the darkness at the old man's side, his hair was long and greasy, his face hard and creased with dislike, "The Dark Lord does not have the boy. He has been routinely sending out lower ranked Death Eaters to investigate possible sightings of the boy, he is determined to transfer the protective magics his mo- that Evans' gave to the infernal brat."

Several people grumbled in the darkness, whether in agreement or disagreement of his statement it was impossible to tell. The old man nodded, looking even older if it were possible.

"Molly? You said you had some important information," the white haired man indicated, gently waving his hand to a plump, apple cheeked woman who had been fidgeting the whole meeting long.

"Yes, Headmaster!" she exclaimed, jumping to her feet, unable to hold herself still any longer, "Last night Hedwig showed up! Hedwig, Harry's owl!" she exclaimed.

Immediately the whole room erupted into noise and clamour and chaos, people shouting and jumping to their feet, trying to question and reach the woman who had spoken, as if to attempt to shake answers out of her.

"Silence!" the old man roared, startling everyone into stillness and silence. "Was there a note with her? Has Harry contacted you at all?" he asked in a lower volume but no less urgent or hopeful.

Molly shook her head, looking upset and unhappy, "No, nothing. She looked such a fright though, she kept scratching at us and flying to the door. I had to have Arthur Stun her before we could shut her up tight in Harry's Owl Cage. She's been fluttering around in a right state ever since, hasn't stopped biting at the bars and clawing anyone who comes close."

"Molly, you cannot let Mr Potter's Owl escape. She is our _only_ clue as to his whereabouts," the old man told her firmly, his blue eyes glinting steely and cold in the gloomy dark room. For the first time in two years, he drew himself up to his full height and an odd hush fell upon everyone in the room, the weight of expectancy charging the air. "Tomorrow, I will see if we cannot get Fawkes to pry Mr Potter's location out of her."

* * *

"_Any – from – 'octor?_"

"_L'ks – 'ike pneumonia. He'll get b'ter with time and 'edrest._"

"_'ch, l'ks 'ike he's been – the wars, 'his one does._"

"_Prob'bly a hom'ess kid. 'ike I was._"

"_'on't get att'ched. Boss 'an isn't too 'ppy about this. Soon – he's 'ood again, 'e's out._"

"_- - no where t' go?_"

A rustle of fabric.

"_Socia' ser'ices then, int'it?_"

* * *

Slowly, against his will, awareness returned to Harry.

He didn't really understand it, he just knew he was awake and at the same time, he didn't want to be. He couldn't remember much about... before. But he recalled bits and pieces of conversation, a woman and a man, two different men, one younger, the other older. He remembered shouting... distantly... he couldn't remember what they were saying though.

He felt warm but not overly hot, not like he was cooking in his own juices like the last few times he managed to crawl to consciousness – too weak to even open his eyes. This time though, even with his eyes blurry and gummy from who knew how long of being sealed shut, he could open them.

Almost immediately his eyes canted around, looking for a familiar ball of white feathers, only... it wasn't, _she_ wasn't there. Where was Hedwig?

Peering around the room, he could see that he was in a very cramped little space, there was a curtain to his right, he could see through the gaps the inside of a truck, comfortable looking seats, CD player, windscreen, novelty dashboard toys... the curtains themselves seemed interesting too, dark midnight blue with luminous glow in the dark silvery green stars, all across the inside of the walls were posters, circus posters, of the same circus. Mostly written in Russian too. He also noticed he was in the only bed, and it probably belonged to a woman – how did he know? Well for one there was a pink lacy thong not too far from him and the bedsheets were both purple and yellow as well as floral patterned. There was not a single article of male clothing that he could see in actual fact. A fair few red corsets though, black lace too, and leather, a lot of leather.

Distantly, he could hear the sounds of what seemed to be a fair ground, a clashing mixmash of irritating jingles, theme music and people screaming.

Why could he smell cats?

Coughing weakly, he decided to close his eyes and sleep some more. He felt like pure hell.

* * *

Hedwig was less than impressed.

Never before had she been so insulted and maligned by those who had been so kind to her before. Swatted, crushed and knocked unconscious she woke up after going to her human's nest-mates for aid and found herself in the cage her human used to carry her long distances when he didn't wish for her to strain herself. And when those fat jiggling creatures trapped her to prevent her human from sending missives to his nest-mates.

And they had turned around and done the same thing. Locked her up when her human needed her most!

When Fawkes came in with Professor Dumbledore, everyone had been hoping for the fire bird's success in obtaining Harry's location from the Snowy Owl. Instead, they heard a squawk of pain, alarm and panic from the fire bird as the enraged female owl went after him with severely ruffled feathers and murder in her eyes.

Hedwig was not happy.

Fawkes went home sans several feathers with a new respect for his unmagical cousins and a healthy fear of the white Owl.

* * *

It was morning when Harry woke next.

He was dimly aware of a cool damp cloth on his forehead as he slowly blinked up at the ceiling in sleepy befuddlement, he couldn't hear the medley of obnoxious tunes and ditties outside, instead it was the song of early morning birds, men and women chattering and laughing, the occasional sound of an exotic animal and someone shouting for some reason.

Slowly, he tilted his head to the side as saw an alarm clock that he neglected to notice the night before – mainly because it was sporting a thong on top of it, said thong was gone now, along with most of the strewn about clothing he had seen. Instead, a small metal basin of cold water was beside him along with a cushion and a mug of lukewarm tea that smelled a bit like vanilla.

Distantly, he could hear people approaching.

" – don't see what your fascination is," a woman was saying.

"Are you kidding? This is the most exciting thing that's happened since Amber broke out of her cage and decided to take a walk down the main road," a man exclaimed, he sounded the same age but full of boyish enthusiasm and far too much coffee or sugar for this time of the morning in Harry's humble opinion.

"Don't remind me," the woman grumbled, making Harry wince as the doors to the truck were pulled open with a screech of metal, "It took me hours to coax her back in and even longer to prevent Animal Control from trying to Destroy her. As if I would ever allow them to do something so horrid to one of my babies."

"You're such a furry," the man teased as the woman crawled in and then through the back to Harry, not even looking at him.

"Ugh, don't tar me with your brush you pervert," she sneered.

She was a pretty woman with thick wavy black hair and caramel coloured brown eyes, her skin was pale and clear of make-up, she had very classical features, high cheekbones, a thin straight nose, delicately arched eyebrows and cupid's bow lips. She didn't seem to have much of a care for how she dressed either, an olive green tank top preserved her modesty but made it quite clear that her rather... ahem, ample assets were without a bra or any form of support, she wore tight washed out jeans that looked as though she had possessed them for many a year, a pair of muddy worn out white sneakers and around her head, to keep her loose hair from her face, was a purple and white tie-dye bandanna.

The man behind her wasn't much better, he had a mop of gingery red hair, watery green eyes and a faceful of freckles enough for Harry to mistake him for a Weasley. His face was angular and rather boyish too, he wore a faded and worn red shirt and a pair of suspender straps preventing his plain brown trousers from falling down his lean waist. A pair of equally muddy boots were on his feet as he crawled in behind the woman, taking his time and appreciating the view as he did so. Even Harry had to smirk at his rather brazen behaviour.

Green eyes blinked down at him, "Hey, look who's finally awake!" the guy exclaimed in easy going amusement, making the woman gasp and whip around to face Harry who offered her a slightly sheepish smile from under the blankets, "Welcome back to the land of the living kiddo. You were rather touch and go for a while," the man explained as the woman began to fuss with his temperature and eyes.

"Don't try to talk," she snapped when Harry opened his mouth to respond, "You had Pneumonia so right now your lungs and your throat aren't your bestfriends. Here, drink this." She held a glass of water to his chin, it was slightly cloudy, "I mixed the medicine the Doctors gave us for you into it. Make sure you drink it all." It tasted bitter but again, it was cool and it soothed the harsh furry disgusting feeling in the back of his throat, the dry prickling he hadn't even realised was there until it was gone.

"I'm Jose, this here's Annabelle," the man said, gesturing to himself and the woman, "Anna here found you last week on her way through London. You're currently in her truck, we're still in London, so no need ta panic about that. We're here for a while longer but we just gotta ask a few questions so we know where to send you to get better properly."

Harry heart sank at that and he couldn't prevent himself from recoiling into the blankets, he didn't want to go back into the System. Mr Angelis was pretty much the only place he was really comfortable in his whole experience of Foster Care, and he was perfectly healthy then, he didn't want to go to a place like the Cotrels' in his current condition – it would be akin to suicide.

The look on Annabelle's face suggested that she had her suspicions about his previous homelife, "You can just nod or shake your head yes or no," she told him calmly, though she did shoot what was undeniably a _Look_ at Jose.

"You living with your parents?" Jose asked, Harry shook his head, "Relatives?" Shake. "You live anywhere nearby?" Shake. "Do you got anywhere you can go?" Shake. There was a pause, "Kid," Jose began, looking uncomfortable, "You homeless?" he asked slowly, Harry nodded and the man cursed quietly.

Annabelle sighed, "Manager's gunna do his nut," she muttered, "Look Kid, you stay here and rest. You won't be leaving us until you're one-hundred percent better, alright?" She smiled but didn't mention how the moment he was fit and well, the manager was going to be on the horn to Social Services to get him shipped out of his Circus. Harry was polite enough not to point that out as he nodded and Annabelle gently smoothed his hair from his forehead, her eyes distant as if she were remembering something sweet and melancholic.

Jose grinned at him, "Welcome to the Circus Kiddo."

* * *

Harry later discovered that he was staying with the Beast Mistress of the Polnach Russian Circus.

The manager, Levka Vostok, was a large bear like individual with a face full of wrinkles and eyes sharper than a bacon slicer, he was gruff and blunt but he was honest and despite his loyalty to his Circus, he wasn't heartless. He was, however, determined to see Harry out of his hair and out of his Beast Mistress's Truck – she was apparently rooming with some friends from the Clown Team and only coming back to her truck when she needed to get changed or tend to Harry who was still too unwell to be up and about.

"Sorry Kid, but my first priority is my business," Levka told him gruffly, sat beside a sour looking Annabelle – wearing a pale green sundress and purple polka dotted wellington boots today – chewing on a cheap hand rolled cigarette, scratching at his unshaven chin, "Soon as you're well, I'll have to call the Social to take you somewhere with a proper roof."

Harry sighed, picking at his nails, he really didn't want to go back to Foster Care, it was quite clearly _not_ the place for him. He would have liked to find Kaleb and his brother but since neither of them had even bothered to tell him they were moving well... _fuck 'em_. Harry had to look out for himself right now, no one else was going to do it.

"I've done Foster Care," he admitted in a whisper, his throat was still raw and it wasn't like it _hurt_ it was more like he _couldn't_ speak any louder. "I'm not going back to that. And I don't have to, since I'm over sixteen." He sighed and scratched irritably at his hair, "Whatever, regardless, how much do I owe you? I haven't got any cash and all I got is my photo album and some old clothes in my bag. I can work it off."

"What do you mean?" Annabelle asked, frowning in concern.

Harry frowned at her, "You spent a lot of time taking care of me when I was sick, you brought me medicine and gave me your own bed and living space. Nothing in life is for free."

Levka snorted, "Got that right, but I think in this case, the fact you're alive is payment enough."

"Don't give me that bullshit," Harry snapped as best he could, glaring at him from under his mop of faded red/black hair. The Russian seemed taken aback, along with Annabelle who physically leaned away from his abrupt vehemence, as Harry glared at them with blade sharp green eyes. "_Nothing_ in life is for free, your excuses and false charity is nothing but an eyesore."

Levka scowled, "Hey, Annabelle didn't pick you up out of the gutter for you to bad mouth-"

"Then why the fuck did she? Why did you?" the teenager snarled at them, fingers twisting in the bedding, glaring at them hotly. "Why would you drag some gutter rat all the way here, give him your bed, spend good money on medicine, and then expect nothing back? Why didn't you just ditch me at a Hospital or the police station if it was just an act of good will? No one goes this far for a stranger!" he laughed bitterly and a little hysterically, "People don't go this far for _family_ half the time!"

Annabelle flinched as if struck and visibly diminished, a small smile of understanding and realisation curling on her mouth. Levka grit his teeth on his cigarette and folded his arms, looking surly but avoiding eye contact with the younger male, his posture hunched and defensive.

"Because..." Annabelle spoke, her voice was slow and quiet, making Harry pause in his seething, "I was once found in a gutter. Because I've lived on the streets, I've been betrayed by those who were supposed to care for me. Because too many children die on the streets every winter, like my friends, and if I can save someone... I will."

Harry subsided, feeling guilty but still suspicious, "That's a lame excuse," he grunted, studiously glaring at the corner furthest away from the woman, "It sounds like something out of a comic book. But... I guess a reason is a reason, no matter how lame it is."

"You got a name kid?" Levka asked, he got the distinct feeling that he was going to be sticking around, whether he liked it or not, the brat was determined to pay Anna back for taking care of him and while he was _never_ one to turn down free help, he knew that after finally confirming that it was his own family that turfed him out, Anna wasn't going to let him go back onto the streets even if it meant moving in with the Clown Team permanently just to make sure he had a place to stay.

"Silver," Harry grunted, he'd been going by that for the past two years, no one had ever been able to get his real name from him – he hadn't even told Kaleb – and the Missing Persons database didn't include anyone matching his description so the Police and Social Services honestly had no idea who he was. Thank God that the Magic Realm were absolute morons and wouldn't have the slightest clue of how to go about finding him in the Muggle World, it was why he hadn't even dared use his Invisibility Cloak or Broomstick or even brew any potions. Forget returning to Diagon Alley, true he could have made the occasional appearance a year ago and gotten some money out but he was so wrapped up with life on the streets that it never even crossed his mind. If he went back now, there would be mass hysteria, he would never be able to escape. Sirius would swoop in and suffocate him with that overprotective reflex he had seen Molly demonstrate – and that was nothing compared to how the woman herself would no doubt react. Harry had gotten quite used to his freedom over the past two years, he quite liked being in control of his own life so _fuck_ anyone who wanted to take that away from him and treat him like a kid. Kids don't kill, they don't steal, they don't get into knife fights and back alley brawls just to keep the shoes on their own damn feet. He wasn't a child anymore.

"Got a last name, Silver?" Levka pressed, and received a very flat, unyielding stare from the boy in question. Well, if he never found anything else to do, Levka could always use another Bouncer and with a stare like that, most people wouldn't even think about starting trouble.

Annabelle smiled, "Do you mind staying with me? Only I feel like I'm beginning to intrude a little on Suzie and the other Clowns."

Harry blushed slightly, "It's your truck. Heck, I'll sleep under it if -

"No-no-no," the woman exclaimed frantically, before smiling in slight embarrassment, "I have a spare bedroll and there's enough space in here to unroll it. I know a few of the other Trailers have space but well, you'd have to join one of the teams. I only get the truck to myself because the Tigers get unsettled around strangers."

"Tigers?" Harry questioned. "Oh, you're the Beast Mistress, I never figured that you'd actually- " A thought struck him, "Hey, did you find a Snowy Owl with me? Is she here?" he asked worriedly. Hedwig must have been absolutely frantic with concern by now, she hadn't left his side except to hunt in the last two years.

"An owl?" Levka asked, leaning forward in slight interest, "She yours?"

"Yes, Hedwig, I got her when I was eleven, she hasn't left me since. Is she alright?" he asked, staring at the older man who stared at the boy before looking to Annabelle who shook her head.

"No, there was no one and nothing else there," she told him.

A cold weight settled into Harry's stomach, "No way..." Hedwig would _never_ leave him, not willingly, "S-she hasn't shown up since? No one's seen a white owl flying around since I came here?"

Annabelle shook her head, "No. They would have told me if they had."

Harry stared at his knuckles in shock, Hedwig was gone? He remembered her flying away but... she wouldn't have abandoned him. Not at this point. She had probably flown off to get help and something bad had happened to her. The cold weight shifted, making it hard to breathe.

Levka didn't seem to notice, "Well, if you've had an Owl for the past few years then you must have a special touch with animals!" he exclaimed, grinning at Annabelle, "Seems you've been picked up by the right woman Silver. What other animals do you have experience with?" he asked grinning broadly.

"Snakes," Harry answered vaguely, still lost in thought, "I set a Boa Constrictor on my cousin at the Zoo once... He wanted to see Brazil..."

"Hmm... We don't have a Snake Charmer, then again, it's never been something that could make it into the Big Top as a performance. Maybe as part of a Side show in the Carnival?" Levka mused, looking to his Beast Mistress for guidance, she was one of the many who remembered the days under the previous owner – his uncle Dimitro Polnach, the Grandson of the Circus's founder. She had been picked up from the streets and trained by the previous Beast Master Viktor, she was the expert on anything non-human within the Circus.

But she wasn't paying attention to him, she was watching Silver in concern, the boy was still staring at his hands in horror. For a moment, the Manager felt a little guilty for his lack of tact, the kid obviously cared about his bird – almost to the same degree that Anna did about her ca-Ah, Tigers.

He coughed under his breath before getting to his feet, "Well. Silver," he boomed, startling the boy slightly into at least looking at him, even if he did look a bit like a deer in the headlights, Levka wondered if he really was over sixteen like he claimed, the kid was absolutely tiny and in all honesty, put a little meat on his bones and he could probably pass for a thirteen-year-old instead. "I leave you in Anna's capable hands. She'll show you the ropes, get you settled in and once that's done, we'll introduce you to the family and find you some jobs to do."

Harry blinked slowly up at the man, thoughts of Hedwig slowly falling away, "Ah, yes, thank you."

"Work hard," the man grunted before crawling with a lot more grace than someone his age would normally have over the truck seats to hop out.

Leaving Harry and the woman Annabelle to their own devices.

There was a moment of silence before, "Do you like pumpkin?" Annabelle asked eagerly.

Harry blinked at her before smiling a little awkwardly, "It's not so bad, tastes a bit like turnip. Why do you ask?"

She smiled brightly at him before opening the bag that he hadn't noticed before to reveal a pair of the bright orange vegetables – technically fruits – within, "I'm making Pumpkin pie for Halloween!"

"Want a hand? It may have been a while, but I still know my way around a kitchen."

* * *

**Chapter four end. **

**Harry's a bit bi-polar with Annabelle and Levka but that's a mixture of the angry street-rat in him along with the defensive orphan, confused teenager and the eager to please abuse victim all clashing and thus not knowing how to react properly. He's a little overwhelmed, his behaviour will calm down after a while. Same with Annabelle, she's a mix of femme-fatale, minx and eager to please as well.**

**L appears in the next chapter – promise. **

**And just to remind everyone, I've got my own story arc planned here. Death Note will come later but because its my own Arc, it needs properly setting up. No one really likes sitting through -Flashback-s, god knows I immediately hit the back button and choose something else if I see someone doing that. It grates on every grammar nerve I have. Every good story sets the scene, my scene setting takes a little longer than most because its fanfiction and I'm going from one pre-established story, to one of my own. just picking the characters up and plonking them down doesn't work, its not seamless and its not pretty and I hate having to detail flashbacks. Anyway, stick with me. L makes his first appearance in the next chapter and I can promise that Chapter 6 is pretty much ENTIRELY told from L's Point of View. Will that keep you guys sticking around 8DD?**


	5. Learn to Fly

**Will to Live**

* * *

**CHAPTER FIVE**

**Learn to Fly**

* * *

He had been working to pay off his debt for a few days now and he surprisingly found himself liking the Circus more and more, the people who lived and worked there were a merry lot who got in and out of trouble, their clashing personalities and differing tastes made for some fantastically interesting arguments, scuffles and friendships. It reminded Harry a little of Hogwarts on Crack.

He had been staying with Annabelle in her truck, curled up in a nest of his usual paraphernalia, old clothes, his jacket and cloaks plus Gryffindor Scarf – thankfully all of which were clean and nice smelling now after Annabelle handed him a set of Jose's clothes and told him that until his belongings were clean, they weren't coming into her truck. The chance to have clean underwear and trousers practically had Harry sprinting for the wash area. Due to the fact they were all pretty much nomadic, moving with the circus and the carnival, the performers and workers either handwashed their clothes or took them to the nearest laundrette. Seeing as Harry didn't have the cash for a laundrette and was working to pay them back for his medicine, he opted to handwash his belongings and hang them out to dry.

He met a lot of interesting people as he did so.

Dorian who worked with the pyrotechnics team, a nice guy but possessing a bad habit of stripping at odd moments – Harry encountered him while he was looking for his clothes, having lost them an hour previously and had been wondering the grounds in nothing but his socks and boxers. Apparently the man just didn't feel the cold, or his body was just permanently hot from working with all the explosives and fireworks they handled for performances which would probably explain his freak stripping incidents a lot better.

Suzie and Lotte from the Clown Team, incidentally Annabelle's bestfriends and the ones who put her up while Harry took over her bed. They were a couple which made for some awkward evenings together when privacy could not be obtained. Suzie was a cheerful brunette with freckles while Lotte was petite, had a mullet haircut of dyed pale blue hair and a sweet smile, both of them were avid book lovers and came over specifically to meet him after finding out from Jose that he was up and at 'em. Suzie specialised in tumbling while Lotte was a superb juggler and dancer.

He met so many people over the past few days that he would probably never remember them all, but several people did stand out if only because of how weird they were, and Harry had thought he'd seen it all while living on the streets.

There was a woman with a real, honest to god, tail about three inches long – she could wag it and everything, Emily, and she was mighty proud of her so called '_physical defect_', the one her father used to beat her for. She tied ribbons around it, attached accessories to make it look like a cat or a dog tail, she loved it. She worked in the Lighting Team but she was practising like mad to hopefully make it into the Choir – she had a lovely voice, she just wasn't able to reach high notes without her voice cracking, when she defeated that handicap then she would be accepted without delay, but first she had to do it.

Eristoff, a lanky Russian man five years his senior working in the Aerials' Division who just so happened to be a connoisseur of all things beautiful, and a total letcher. Dinner time on the first night he was there, Harry was treated to the sight of the Russian man attempting to flirt with Annabelle while they all sat outside with their plates, chattering and laughing as Dorian got into a fight with one of the Clowns – his fraternal twin brother Lucian – who had a talent for Fire Eating/Breathing. The young woman had deftly turned Dorian's attention to Harry and he found himself rearing backwards as he was inspected from every angle – even having his teeth checked before he lost his temper and planted a foot into Eristoff's chest, much to the amusement of everyone else. The Aerials' performer declared him acceptable and then proceeded to repeat his pick-up lines from earlier.

Harry had picked up his plate and hidden on the otherside of Annabelle.

There had been three performances so far, for every City they did a show based on an old fairytale or folklore legend, for London they were using Cinderella, it was quite the performance as far as Harry could see from what few scenes he caught while running errands for the Orchestra. Singing, dancing, fighting, it was some incredible stuff, they had tweaked and adjusted a few scenes to make them more exciting – changed a few bits and pieces, like instead of the Evil Step Mother it was the Evil Step Father and Step Brother and Sister, this provided some good sword fights for the Prince to battle through and an evil Regent who was desperately in love with the Evil Step-Sister and planning on forcing the Prince to marry her and then kill him so he could then play the shoulder to cry on and marry her, thus procuring the throne and the woman of his dreams.

Whatever anyone said about the Aerials' Team, Harry could quite comfortably say that Eristoff deserved the respect the others gave him, he had never seen anyone move like that in his life – it was as if they were flying but they most certainly weren't. Even Quidditch Players wouldn't risk half the things these people did. It was incredible, especially when he stopped to realise, they were doing this without magic. Or safety nets.

The Circus was going to be in London for only another week before moving on, Harry would be staying behind when they left, his debts fulfilled and his life back to what it once was.

Cold, quiet and alone.

He didn't want to go back to that, he didn't want to go back to the streets where he wouldn't even have Kaleb or Tim or any of the other Runners to turn to, where he wouldn't have Hedwig anymore. He didn't want to be alone and the more he laughed and fit in amidst the Carnies as if a niche had been sat there, waiting for him all along, the little brother, the cheeky one, the prankster, the baby, the more _they_ didn't want him to leave either. Dorian and Lucian had already dragged him over to begin his stow-away plans, Lucian even going so far as to suggest he hunker down in a box of explosives and refuse to come out until Levka agrees to let him stay. Dorian said it was a good idea, but he would get kicked out the second he was free from the high grade explosives – and then he would get arrested. So that plan was a bust before the word go was even thought.

The realisation of how limited a time he had left struck Harry particularly hard one night as he watched everyone laughing, joking, screwing around at the after-show party, just blowing off steam and working off the excess adrenaline from their performances. It was when Lucian swallowed a flaming marshmallow and belched smoke that he realised that in a weeks time, he would be on his own and these fantastic people, these strange alien and bright people who shouldn't exist in London with its grey sky, dirty walls and dank, damp gutters, would move on and forget about him. That he would never see them again, Jose wouldn't tease him about bagging an older woman, Eristoff wouldn't eye his backside appreciatively until Annabelle smacked him, he wouldn't be coddled by Lotte and Suzie who would hiss and snarl at anyone who looked at him funny, he wouldn't get dragged off by the twins on one of their hairbrained schemes. There were so many people he would miss and it physically hurt to think of never seeing them again, more than it did when he was taken away from Kaleb and his family, more than when he and the other Foster Kids were taken away from Mr Angelis or when he saw the bruises on Jennifer's face after that fight she tried to stop, the fight that broke out because Harry was being teased over his crush on her.

He quickly fled the Party and into the Big-top which should have been deserted at this time of night, climbing to the highest point of the light fixtures so he could brood in peace where no one could find him. Over and over again his mind swirled with thoughts of his encroaching abandonment and his emotions just went completely haywire.

He needed to do something, anything.

He just had to stop thinking, he needed to stop before he did something he would regret.

Looking down, Harry took a breath and threw himself off the stainless-steel lighting frames. Plummeting down into the main staging area. He had always wanted to try his hand at the Aerials after witnessing that first show, but he had never had the guts to do it and he hadn't wanted to step on anyone's toes by messing with the equipment in the big top, he'd fooled around a little on the practice trampolines when no one was looking but they were somewhat different from the performance tramps. Less powerful.

His body twisted and he landed on his back, the trampoline beneath him dipping under the force of his impact before snapping upwards, sending him into the air again, his body flipping and uncurling as the world around him spun in mixture of darkness and muted light as the bonfires and lamps and solar lights outside shone through the canvas of the tent. It wasn't flying and it wasn't Free Running.

But it was still freedom.

His feet hit the trampoline and his body crouched, pushing his weight down before his arms reached up, his body being propelled into the air, feeling the sweet weightlessness of midair as his body twisted rapidly. He found his feet and landed on the trampoline hard, launching himself back into the air again, enjoying the feeling of the air rushing over his skin, picking at his clothes and whipping at his red-black hair.

* * *

"He's good, unrefined, but definitely a diamond in the rough."

"Good body type too, he's had some kind of acrobatic training. You saw him earlier, too graceful and his situational awareness is fantastic."

"Well, he was homeless from what I gleaned out of Bells. Jose thinks he's a street performer."

"Jose thinks Ira's a woman, his eyes need checking. He's too uncomfortable with attention being on him to be a Street Performer. I'm thinking either Gymnast or some kind of Martial Art that looks like acrobatics. Capoiera maybe."

"Free running. I heard him mention it before. And remind me to kick Jose."

"Ira, thought you were trying to beat Orion off."

"He got distracted by booze. Why are we lurking in the light fixtures watching An's new stray like creepy pedo stalkers?"

"Because Eristoff _is_ a creepy pedo stalker."

"I'm going to push you off these light fixtures if you call me that again, Hale."

"And what about you?"

"Keeping an eye on the new talent. You?"

"Wondering where you guys are. Are you going to recruit him?"

"Well, neither Dorian or Lucian are gunna let him go. I found them plotting over how to best hide the kid in a box of fireworks and then ransom them so Levka'll let him stay."

"You're shitting me..."

"Shit you not, Eri. They sounded pretty serious about it and I know Lotte and Suzie don't want him to leave, Jose's already checking and double checking his Trailer to see if there would be any room and Annabelle's got that stubborn look on her face – she's gearing up for a fight."

"That could get messy. So, he's going to join us?"

There was a moment of silence as the three men looked down at the small black haired figure as it twisted in the middle of the air. Eristoff, tall with black hair and grey eyes, his body lean but muscular, his face aristocratic and refined, Hale, bulky and heavily muscular with thick wavy blond hair and green eyes, his face stubbled with gold and ginger as he watched the teenager below, standing at his elbow, the slender but still toned albino Ira, his snow white hair tipped in black dye, his red eyes hidden away behind a pair of black contact-lenses to protect them as he watched along with his colleagues.

"Yeah. I think he will," Hale stated calmly.

* * *

To say everyone was pleased that Harry would be staying was an understatement, another party broke out even while everyone was still hungover from the previous one. Annabelle started to cry and hugged him so tightly it actually hurt while Jose cheered and gave him a rather rough noogie, both Dorian and Lucian cheering and dancing in a circle chanting happily – Dorian mysteriously sans shirt and socks.

Eristoff pulled him away from the celebrations to introduce him to the rest of the Aerials Team, there weren't that many of them but everyone was capable of mixing and matching with each other – though they tended to keep the twins together.

Astrid and Ingrid were the twins, both Bulgarian they were quite pretty young women with thick dark brown hair and warm brown eyes, they were tall, slender and yet Harry could see the fine muscle that corded their bodies when they moved, they were very physically capable and he didn't doubt for one minute that they were capable of supporting their own weight, plus the weight of their twin sister.

Hale was the Captain but he was an utter beast of a man at 6'5" and built like a brick-shit house, blond haired, green eyed, stubbly with a jaw that could shatter rock. He had a pretty kick ass tattoo of a dragon on his upper arm though.

Lanky dark haired Eristoff who looked like he could have been a better looking cousin of Sirius introduced him to the stuck up perfectionist Layla Hartfilia, a French woman with a killer body and soft blonde hair, she was the only parent in the Aerials' Team, her young son Kiiromaru was half Japanese from a random guy she hooked up with when they were there a few years ago, she wouldn't give him up for the world and after meeting the shy little boy with his brilliant mind and love of mystery and detective novels, Harry wouldn't either. He reminded him of himself back when he was still young and idealistic – he would like the boy to stay that way a lot longer than he did.

Ira Nimespera had been next, he was Spanish but albino, his parents were uneducated and lived in a very rural community where the term Albino had never reached them. They believed him to be cursed and did everything in their power to exorcise him until the authorities came and took him away for abuse, he was placed into Foster Care, rather a lot like Harry, but unlike him, Ira tried to get back to his parents because his autistic younger brothers would have no one to take care of them. He would later find out that they died through neglect and his younger sister was adopted into a different family – and the Government wouldn't give him the address or names of her new parents. Ira was difficult to speak to, he was quiet and very cold, he didn't like getting close to people because, like Harry, he had come to the conclusion that eventually everything would be torn away from him so he shouldn't get close. Currently he was being seduced by a member of the Clown Team, Greek born Orion Caliga. Without much success.

Kyoko was the last member of the team, a tiny Japanese girl with vivid candy floss pink hair and dimples on both cheeks when she smiled and greeted him in her accented high-pitched voice. She was a very pretty young girl who had dreamed of joining the Circus ever since she was a little girl and had worked hard to do so, she joined with Polnach when she was sixteen, his age, straight out of school and against her parents' wishes for her to go to College and then study Law at Tokyo University. They disowned her after she left and while she had been depressed, she bounced back and claimed Polnach as her new family – it was a nonsecret that she had a massive crush on Lucian who was as thick as bricks and didn't have the slightest idea, everyone seemed to find it hilarious and never even attempted to enlighten him to the fact.

They all shared a large tour-bus with a small container at the back dedicated solely to their equipment such as the wires, aerial silks, trapeze bars, Cloud swing, safety nets and all the little nuts and bolts and joints that would affix the bars in place to the scaffold where and when they needed to be. Quite honestly, they had an absolutely tiny living-space, they slept in bunk-beds with little curtains to give them privacy, they had tables and lamps that could be folded out from the wall and clicked into place so they could be used while in bed, thin windows which offered a little light, large lockers for their normal clothing and general stuff such as shoes, bags, etcetera, a number of shelves at the foot of their beds as well, each of them with a slight lip to prevent anything from falling off while in transit.

Eristoff and Hale shared a bunk-set, the twins another, Layla and her son had their own little Roma-home so they didn't live in the truck, Ira and Kyoko got a bunk-set each to themselves because it would be inappropriate for Kyoko to share a set with a man – according to her. Which left Harry to take the bunk beneath Ira and make himself at home. There were two bunk-sets on each side of the van leaving a very small – almost minuscule – little communal area right behind the driver's seat, a cubby-hole above the Driver's head offering extra blankets, cushions, a wooden-table top and the bar to slot into the plug on the floor to put it up plus a little minifridge which everyone used to keep bottles of coke and milk plus ice packs for sore muscles after training.

Once Harry, or rather Silver as everyone was calling him, got settled, his training would begin.

And judging by the hard smirk on Hale's face and the sympathetic ones on both Ira and Eristoff's, he wasn't going to enjoy it, in fact, he was probably going to curse ever agreeing to join the Circus – for the first three months in anycase, after that, like anyone else, he would wonder why he hadn't joined it sooner.

* * *

L wasn't sure he wanted to get involved in this case.

He stared at the file that Wammy had brought to him with a certain tightness to his features that suggested this wasn't a case he had voluntarily picked up, but one that had been thrust at him by an opportunistic politician who cornered him under his Watari guise.

It was a Missing Person's case, one Harry James Potter, born 1980 July 31st to Lily and James Potter, orphaned on October 31st 1981 – L's second birthday – and sent to live with his relatives Petunia and Vernon Dursley as well as their Delinquent of a son, Dudley Dursley. Psychological profile suggests that Petunia and Vernon were emotionally and mentally abusive to their nephew as well as outright neglectful, Dudley Dursley, already possessing several complaints of Assault on Minors was 99.8 percent likely to have been overtly physically abusive to his cousin in the mean-time. He had evidentially received some rather unpleasant threats while in school at 14 by the same individual who murdered his parents and promptly left following an argument with a friend that night, chances of the friend being dismissive or outright scornful of Potter's concerns were at a 98 percent certainty. After this point, he dropped off the grid, private detectives and personal searches had turned up bare traces in London and Kent. Apart from those bare traces, his '_clients_' had been unable to find hide nor hair of the young man in question.

L's problem with this case was that these people were not giving him all the information, in fact, they were purposefully distorting facts and twisting truths and outright lying to him.

That annoyed him a great deal.

And it seemed as though Wammy was not pleased about being pressured to deliver the case to his young charge either, both of them were well aware that L would only take a case if it interested him personally – this case didn't interest him but this Fudge chap who was apparently deep into the Prime Minister's acquaintance, and yet L could find no trace of him, was insisting on having the best of the best look for this boy who was of no relation to him.

L chewed grumpily on the pad of his thumb, he couldn't very well just turn down a request from the Prime Minister – but then again it hadn't been him asking, it was a complete unknown who just so happened to have a letter from said Prime Minister within the case file asking for his aid. Letters could be faked and so, without further consideration, L dropped the file into the paper shredder beside him, watching the attached photograph of the missing boy – a teenager who possessed a faint passing resemblance to himself, large tired green eyes hidden behind glasses that had a 76 percent chance of being out of prescription judging by the lack of focus in his pupils, unruly black hair and painfully white skin – was sliced into thin ribbons of paper and dropped to the bottom of the waste paper bin.

Ready to be burned the next morning.

* * *

**Chapter Five Finished and we've had our first glimpse of L!**

**Yeah, he completely ignored Fudge's demand to find Harry because the case didn't interest him and they lied, so he didn't like them. For a genius, his thought processes can be rather simplistic. Yeah, I tried to make it not be, but this Chapter just feels rather Fillerish to me, even though it contains two important plotpoints: Harry joining the Aerials Team – the Circus in general and L seeing Harry's file. Trust me, both are important, but in different ways. I shall say nothing else on the matter.**

_Also, I would like to draw your attention to the fact that I have made multiple updates as an apology for taking so long to update. Also, on my profile will be a link to a Webcomic I am working on. It should update weekly and its called __Annen Rute__ for those of you who follow me on DeviantART, I will tell you now that I'm redoing the Prologue and redesigning several characters, I'm doing my research properly and I've been studying HTML and CSS in order to make the website look as good as possible. Sadly, not been having much luck, SO, if anyone is any good at that, I would love to hear from you. XDD Drop me a PM or an e-mail or message me on Facebook. I will pay you in Fanart ;D_


	6. Smoke and Mirrors

**Will to live**

* * *

**CHAPTER SIX**

**Smoke and Mirrors**

* * *

In all honesty, he would have rather celebrated his eighteenth birthday in his Hotel room with a triple-layered chocolate gateau and three scoops of vanilla ice cream and a single waver fan, double checking the Peterborough Case Files one last time to make sure that nothing was flawed before turning his laptop off and sitting in the obvious absence of whirling cooling fans to properly appreciate his sweet treat.

Instead, Quillish had dragged him out to visit the near-by Circus who were apparently only performing for three weeks before moving on down the coast. El Lawliet(1), otherwise known as L, was more than comfortable to allow them to do so and enjoy his triple layered chocolate gateau and ice cream in peace.

Still, he decided as he licked the decimated remains of his sixth cotton candy stick from his long fingers, he supposed it could have been worse. Quillish could have refused to let him have any sweets, he had been threatening to cut him off for a while now, concerned for his health. However, should L cease consuming sugar and high energy and fat content foods then his metabolism would slow to the point where his body would experience a painful crash, putting him into an extremely sluggish and exhausted state of mind, thus wasting valuable time with sleep that he could be using to solve crime. Sadly, Quillish did not seem to understand how vital Strawberry Shortcake was to solving crime, but the man was kind enough to humour him and obtain the best that money could buy for his young charge – even bake his own when there wasn't a Patisserie in the area that held to L's impeccably high standards.

Ooh, toffee apples.

Quillish smiled in tolerant amusement as the young adult, yet still such a child, was successfully distracted from his misgivings about this adventure by the vast amount of sweets, snacks and sugar available at such cheap prices. He felt that this was a lovely way to celebrate such a large milestone in a young man's life. For the most part, L was thoroughly against celebrating his birthday, it was just another day he got older and closer to dying so he didn't see it in any particular light of importance. This was simply L's lack of social skills or acknowledgement of common social rituals, but whether he was aware of it or not, Quillish was determined to celebrate his young charge's birth, even if the mysterious circumstances surrounding everything from that point onward until his thirteenth birthday when Quillish stumbled across him and that startlingly sharp mind and thousand yard stare. He thanked every Deity he could think of every day that he stumbled across the boy when he did, not because of his usefulness in putting criminals behind bars, but because had he remained in his situation for much longer, he would have become one of those criminals and with his mind, become the greatest and cruellest of them all.

Watching him now, slopping to the sweet stand in his baggy jeans, shoe-lace less tennis shoes, large thick white cotton long-sleeved top with his hair a total bird's nest and various lollies and already purchased sweets stuffed into bulging pockets, Quillish could barely put this young man together with the thirteen year old who attempted to pickpocket him in the middle of London.

Looking to the side, Quillish eyed the shooting booth, idly wondering if he should try his hand before smirking when his eyes landed on the perfect gift for L – he would get kicked in the shins for it and a sulky silence for about five minutes but he knew that L would keep hold of it for the rest of the evening because he had been the one to give it to him.

Five minutes later after L had finished buying six Toffee Apples, two buckets of cotton candy, three large gingerbread circus tent biscuits and a super sized strawberry and blueberry Slushy Drink, he turned around and came face to face with a stuffed panda.

A panda.

Charcoal eyes peered over the toy's head to glower at Wammy, the old man was grinning broadly and if L weren't precariously balancing toffee apples on top of his cotton candy tubs, he would kick him. As it was, he didn't have time to make a snide comment regarding his gift before Quillish was scooping up his precious sweets, thrusting the Panda into his arms and telling him to hurry up or they wouldn't get good seats for the performance in the Big top.

Shuffling along behind him, L couldn't help but idly wonder just what his guardian was expecting. After all, it was just a display of superior physical athleticism coupled with intimate familiarity with momentum and human psychology to create a performance that would stun and awe those of lesser minds and observational skills.

Still, they found themselves an Isle Seat and got comfortable, Quillish handing over L's much desired sweets as he sat with his knees up to his chest, Panda held tightly, and got down to the important business of correcting his sugar stream's blood to sugar ratio. He grudgingly allowed Quillish to have some cotton candy and decided to give him one of the toffee apples as well, because he was very nice like that and Quillish had made him a lovely cheesecake to get him to come out tonight.

All at once the lights began to dim and the performance began.

* * *

"You're smudging your make-up!"

"Ow, hey! Watch where you're going!"

"Has anyone seen Lillia from the Clown Team? I have her costume but I don't have her!"

"Who's been spraying Aerosol! You know I'm allergic!"

It had been a year since he had joined the Polnach Russian Circus and it was the same crush _every_ evening before a show, he shook his head, smiling fondly from where Eristoff was stretching his leg up over his head, both of them were in costume, their hair and make-up set, they were just doing some last minute stretches before the performance. Already things had kicked off with Annabelle riding her favourite Tiger out – Amber, and the rest of her precious Big Cats following to do their performances. They were doing their own interpretation of Aladdin with a few extra scenes added in, he and Ira were going to be playing the part of Spirits that Eristoff – the evil sorcerer and Most Trusted Advisor – captured in order to steal the Genie from Aladdin and do his bidding, such as kidnapping Princess Jasmine – played by Annabelle – on his order and preventing the Sultan and his guards from helping Aladdin fight against him.

"Kiiro, I need you to run and get me another box of C-grade Fireworks. Hurry kid, scene five is about to start!" Dorian was calling to the eight year old boy who quickly dodged through the bustling crowds of performers and support staff.

Lucian, who had managed to land himself the lead role of Aladdin in this piece, was currently out in the spot lights playing the part of the cheeky street-rat with great aplomb, and while he wasn't a great singer, his skill with fire had already made an appearance when he used a candle and a mouthful of suspicious liquid to set one of the '_guards_' on fire during his escape from the markets where he stole some bread.

Thus far the performance was a hit, Harry could see the children from his place and they were positively enthralled with the lights, the music, the singing and the stunts. Parents were whispering the narrative of the story from the free-programmes that Lotte had been handing out at the entrance flap of the stage, she had broken her arm in Practice three days ago and was unable to perform from then on.

When a dark music began to play it queued Eristoff to go and play his scene where he sings about his plans to steal the Genie so he could Rule the Kingdom and marry the Princess. He played the villain quite well Harry decided as he climbed into the scaffolding to wait for his queue – Scene eight, the Spirits of the Dragon and the Phoenix. Given that Harry was younger than Ira by half a decade, not to mention that he was considerably shorter and thinner, he had been given the role of the Phoenix – he felt it a kind of fated irony when he took into account the imprint Fawkes had left on him. He had cleared the audition for the Phoenix with flying colours as he remembered every detail of the magnificent creature, everything he could think of and picture in his mind from the way the Phoenix flew, to the way it landed and moved its head.

Ira had been considerably more aggressive than any of the other auditions for the role of the Dragon, he honestly reminded Harry of a Hungarian Horntail and as the former wizard was the first selected to be in the Performance, he was included on the judging panel and quite firmly informed Hale that he felt Ira would have been the best for the job. Chinese dragons were considered wise and peaceful, however, since the Dragon in their depiction of Aladdin was supposed to be a Bringer of Storms, the aggression that his albino Teammate would bring to the performance would give it a lot more life than any of the delicate seeming movements of the others.

Right now, Ira was crouched like a gargoyle behind the curtains down below, awaiting his queue which would be after Harry had made his appearance.

He twitched as the lights turned red at the final crescendo of Eristoff's song before finally cutting out. Gripping the line that affixed to the back of his Costume, Harry dropped down into the stage with a single yellow spot light illuminating him.

Harry still wasn't comfortable with so many eyes upon him but the best thing about the stage was that the spot-lights were shining so brightly on him that he couldn't actually _see_ the audience to get stage-fright, instead, he concentrated on his performance, in becoming Fawkes. While the spot-light concentrated on his slow decent onto the stage, black clad stage-hands were quickly swapping the props around with silent and well practised movements, changing the backgrounds to that of a forest instead of the dark cavern that had been Eristoff's background.

He landed and threw his arms out, the lights flipping on to reveal the changed background and the supposedly sleeping Ira, curled up on a high-rock.

Playfully, Harry used the springier than normal floor to '_fly_' to the rock beside him.

They were to tease and play with one another for a few minutes, just so the Audience could get a feel for their characters, the Dragon being gruff yet kind and gentle to the Phoenix who was curious and playful – this would then make their Capture that much more emotionally charged for them, especially when it would reveal the other sides of their personality and the knock-on effects it would bring. The Dragon's ferocity and aggression, the Phoenix's broken trust and fearfulness, he and Ira were supposed to display a couple that weren't, two sides of the same coin that physically couldn't live without the other.

And queue Eristoff, the change in the music and the way that both Ira and he paused on their trapeze, the smaller of the two swinging down to land on the rock formation and be coaxed down to meet the human who would throw an enchanted silver chain around him – enraging the dragon into falling into his trap and becoming subdued under a net of the same enchanted chain, binding both of them into his service.

Thus ended Scenes eight and nine and lead into Scene ten, a duet song between the Phoenix and the Dragon while they were chained down and hidden away in the dark of Eristoff's cavernous dungeon.

* * *

L chewed absently on his cotton candy, eyes glued to the events down below with completely rapt attention that he would usually reserve solely for a Case. He found himself frowning slightly whenever he saw the Advisor, categorising every sign of his so called '_Evil-doing_' without even realising he was mentally building a case against him, kidnapping, theft, bribery, blackmail, coercion, murder, planning premeditated murder...

He steadily consumed his pile of sweets, one arm wrapped around his Panda and watching in open mouthed amazement as the Phoenix and the Dragon Spirits attacked Aladdin and stole the lamp from him along with Princess Jasmine, the Phoenix landing in a crouch in front of her and suddenly launching skyward, sweeping her up along with him into the darkness of the ceiling – leaving Aladdin to be roughly thrown aside like a rag doll as the Dragon stole the lamp and followed his partner into the air.

He didn't like the idea of the Princess being at the mercy of the Advisor who not only had the Spirits under his control but now also the Genie – all three of the supernatural beings being less than happy with the arrangement.

Thus followed a scene between the Phoenix and the Princess, the young woman crying over her supposed fate to be wed to a man she didn't love and used for her wealth and family connections and the Phoenix trying to give her comfort. Their voices mixing and rising into a song that somehow managed to be both sad and yet hopeful before the Phoenix gave her a gift, his protection from illness, from pain and from death, he threaded one of his bright scarlet feathers into her thick black hair before the silver chain around his throat lit up and he was Summoned away from the Princess to the Advisor's side.

Leaving her to promise to somehow return to Aladdin's side – even if she had to kill the Advisor herself and thus free the Spirits and the Genie.

Then the lights began to dim and the lights on the audience slowly turned on, leaving a few of them blinking in bewilderment and looking skyward until a voice, familiar as Aladdin's, came over the speakers announcing that they were breaking for a short intermission so please, get some snacks, visit the toilet facilities outside to the left – just ask the blue haired woman outside for directions if you're unsure, stretch your legs or buy a souvenir of the performance from the peddlers making their way through the tent.

"Are you enjoying it so far, Edward?" Quillish asked, using the alias they had opted to facilitate that evening, there was a certain tilt to the older man's mouth that suggested that he knew what L was feeling so it mattered not whether he told the truth or exaggerated it, because Wammy already knew.

For a moment, he considered his answer, picking the cotton candy stick he had been sucking on for the last three minutes out of his mouth and idly dropping it on the floor – ignoring the older man's disapproving frown.

"Yes," he admitted slowly, staring unblinkingly at the stage which a moment before had told a story that he had not noticed, until now, had so completely enthralled him that he childishly desired to kick Aladdin's actor for deciding they needed an intermission – he wanted to know what happened next!

Quillish smiled brightly, pleased that his decision to coerce L into joining him this evening had resulted in a pleasant evening for them both, he always felt dreadfully guilty when he managed to bring L out of his Hotel for something he thought they could both enjoy – only to find that he was the only one who had. "I'm glad. I must admit, I was a little wary about the idea of a Circus adaptation but they've done really rather well, even including more characters and scenes than I had anticipated."

"The Phoenix and the Dragon," L said knowingly.

"Indeed. Marvellous costumes though, I do wonder how they're able to move so well with them, I would have thought there was a Health and Safety risk of the fabrics getting caught up in the equipment."

L nodded absently, he had not even thought of that while watching but now that he had been reminded that these were in fact actual _people_ and not Spirits that he, too, was confused and fascinated by the way their costumes just seemed to be a part of them.

Both the Phoenix and the Dragon had the most complicated costumes out of the cast thus far seeing as they both required wings – something that had been pulled off rather admirably well in L's humble opinion. The Dragon, a quick check of his guide informed him that the Performer's name was Ira Nimespera, was clad in a matt black fabric that seemed to reflect absolutely no light save for the small shiny pads that seemed to possess a green sheen, giving the illusion of Dragon scales. Attached to his sides and stretching up to his wrists were a set of remarkably bat like wings made out of a stretchy fabric that was matt on the inside and shiny on the outside, his hair seemed to be pasted down with black and twisted into a set of horns and a spray of spikes that ran down his back and to his tail which stopped at knee-length. His make-up seemed to elongate his face and give his red eyes a much more menacing tone, making them appear deeper set and lined with scales and little horns.

The Phoenix, a seventeen year old by the name of Silver, no family name provided, wore something a little similar but a lot more fiddly, his outfit seemed to be comprised of floaty see-through fabrics in gold, orange, yellow and red, his hair pasted down in a similar fashion to the Dragon but possessing a crown of scarlet and gold feathers rather like the crest on a Cockatoo, the fabric between his waist and arms was in fact entirely feathered and when he stretched his arms out it actually revealed a full and anatomically correct bird's wing, with flight feathers and everything. For a tail he had a spray of knee-length scarlet and crimson feathers but trailing down to his ankles was a collection of three pure gold peacock feathers. His make up made his face look more open, enlarging his startlingly green eyes and making his mouth and nose appear smaller, more petite and his already heartshaped face even smaller.

The Princess wore fabrics of pale green and gold, but completely inappropriate for a Ruler's daughter of the time and location, even more so for the religion but it was supposed to be a romanticised view of the tale, so he supposed the fact that she looked like a Harem girl could be somewhat forgiven. She was apparently played by the Beast Mistress of the Circus, Annabelle Filch, which would explain why she was introduced while riding a tiger which was apparently supposed to be the Princess's pet and bodyguard.

Aladdin was played by a member of the Clown Team, a Fire Eater by the name of Lucian – no last name provided, his costume consisted of a pair of white balloon pants and a purple vest lined in gold, he walked barefoot through the whole performance and seemed to just _fit_ the role of the cheeky street rat with big dreams and the determination to make them happen along with a boundless loyalty to his friends.

The Advisor was played by a member of the Aerials' Team, Eristoff Gregorovich – L frowned briefly, wasn't Eristoff a brand of Vodka? – who not only seemed to enjoy the role but also had the looks to pull of the darkly cultured man, his costume seemed to be A-typical of all villain types, black with red trimmings and lots of pointy edges. It was any wonder the man could somehow perform his stunts while wearing such heavily padded shoulders – they were even shaped so they pointed upwards.

The Genie, played by Captain of the Aerials' Team Hale Andrews, was coloured in completely gold paint with a pair of billowy white trousers and silver cuffs on his wrists – silver that matched the collars and chains around the Dragon and Phoenix Spirits – symbolising his servitude to the owner of the Magic Lamp. His happiness during the performance seemed to be forced but he _became_ the Genie when on his own, his solos about his life, the loneliness, the betrayal, the loss of friendships and being forced to be a tool, a thing, to better others at the expense of others. His portrayal was so raw and real that even L felt himself becoming somewhat upset over the Genie's predicament in a distant kind of way.

Idly, he was aware of several conversations taking place around him as he began to dig away at the protective coating of solid toffee syrup around his apple, Wammy had already flagged down one of the Gophers to purchase as much sugar for him as possible. L however was busy listening to the conversation of a middle aged couple behind them, their daughter, a bright haired little thing was chattering eagerly with the boy behind her, apparently they were concerned about the Circus and the string of abductions that seemed to follow it.

L frowned slightly as he licked Syrup flakes from his teeth, the husband seemed highly concerned and didn't want to linger after the performance was over, the mother was wary but slightly dismissive. Circuses and Carnivals were breeding grounds for that sort of thing, they just had to keep a close eye on their little girl and she would be fine. They immediately stopped speaking about the subject when their daughter turned her attention onto them and asked if she could join – L stopped paying attention, nothing more of interest was going to be said.

So... Children had vanished from this Circus before? That had to be bad for business but from the way it was worded he could only assume that it was an occurrence that had happened more than once. Was one of the Carnival workers or Circus performers the abductor? A paedophile perhaps, or merely a cereal killer? His curiosity was piqued.

"Here we go, my boy," Wammy declared, handing over his acquired horde of confectionery, L nodded his thanks and arranged his food appropriately around him before continuing to gnaw at his Toffee Apple, glancing upwards only briefly as the Speakers announced that the performance was about to begin and would everyone please take their seats.

There was a pause of about two minutes before the lights began to dim and the music began again, sucking L back into the world of Spirits and Genies and Happily Ever Afters.

* * *

The final fight of the performance showed the clever Aladdin using fire to burn the Phoenix, consuming it in flames where the silver collar melted and the Phoenix was reborn from his ashes and in turn, stole the lamp from the Evil Advisor and returned it to Aladdin who then freed the Dragon and the Genie and Wished for the Evil Advisor's Magic to be taken away and destroyed so it could never be used again.

L approved as he watched the Evil Advisor get arrested and thrown in a hole where not even the pigeons could land their droppings on him, at least according to the Sultan who then turned around and informed Aladdin and the Princess that they could not marry because Aladdin wasn't a Prince. Yet, instead of Wishing to become a Prince again, Aladdin used his last Wish to free the Genie from his Lap – _completely_. Something which L wasn't one hundred percent certain was the correct thing to do, typically Genie were evil before they were sealed, that was why they spent the rest of their existence serving others. At least that was what information he knew about them.

Still, it was a happily ever after as the Sultan repealed the Law, Aladdin married his Princess, the Genie returned to his home to see if any of his grandchildren had grandchildren of their own for him to meet, the Dragon and the Phoenix returned to their home and the last scene was of the Evil Advisor, raggedy, defeated, being dragged across the stage by Palace Guards screaming about how he would have his revenge – this wasn't over yet!

And the curtain dropped.

L blinked, startled out of the performance as it came to a sudden end and everyone around him started clapping and cheering as the lights turned on and the curtain lifted so that all the performers could come on and give a final bow. They looked satisfied, a little tired and rosy cheeked but all in all very pleased with themselves as they waved energetically and did a few flips and cartwheels to the glee of onlookers.

Wammy was clapping most enthusiastically at L's side and he doubted that it was his imagination when he noted the older man clapped just a little bit more enthusiastically when the woman who played the Princess came out on the stage with her Tiger who curled one foreleg beneath her and bent down as if bowing. Really, how does one train a tiger to do something like that?

The Stage finally went dark as the last performer gave his bow and ducked out.

"A truly spectacular performance," Wammy exclaimed, practically glowing as he gathered up their belongings and the majority of L's sweets, the pair of them following the thronging crowd of the audience as they vacated the Big Top. He wasn't the only one who thought so because a great many people were commenting on how fantastic the show was, a few returners admitting that a few of the scenes were different, some of the song lyrics as well – the Costumes were different as well, last time the Phoenix and the Dragon actually had wire-constructs hooked to their backs that had been feathered or covered with leather to take the shape of actual wings. It had looked incredible and the performance had been flawless, so they were a little confused about the costume change, until one of the Carnival women, the blue haired woman with the broken arm, laughed and explained that the costume changed for every performance so returners would always have something new to witness.

"What shall we do now, my boy? More sweets and head home or shall we try one of the attractions?" the older man suggested nodding to one of the roller-coasters that made the balls of L's feet itch with the desire to move far away in the opposite direction because that thing had to be a death trap.

"Sweets and then home," the newly turned eighteen year old decided firmly, shifting his grip on the stuffed panda thoughtfully as his Care-taker nodded in amused expectation. If Wammy had already known he would refuse, why did he even bother asking? L wondered in vague frustration at being forced to waste precious time by verbalising his thoughts and desires when it was already plainly apparent to his Care-taker.

L watched as the old man moved off to go and hunt down the requisite sugared treats, reluctantly, because his tennis shoes were beginning to rub, L followed. If only because he was beginning to feel a touch anxious with all these people pressing in around him in such a chaotic cacophony, he did not like being out of sight of Wammy in such conditions, it was too difficult to adequately defend himself in such conditions without accidentally harming, even killing, an innocent by-stander. And that would bring him and Wammy a lot of extremely unwanted attention.

Lingering in close to his Care-taker, L idly watched everyone around them go about their business, his mind already drifting back to what he had heard during the intermission, the missing children. Something about how it seemed to be a common occurrence tickled his fancy, perhaps it was just his very well hidden inner-sadist but he was somewhat hopeful of actually witnessing a crime take place. Maybe he could actually solve the crime without having to do anything for once because he had been there and seen it. He was being completely and utterly silly by even thinking that someone would commit a crime, in the middle of such a crowded area, with eyes watching from every stall. But he couldn't deny his childish desire to actually _see_ a crime take place, the very beginning, the actual act, all he had ever seen since he had been brought in off the streets was the aftermath, the processed information filtered back to him through various channels and individuals and laboratories. Perhaps it was just the remnants of the lost eight-year-old boy he had once been before the world showed how cruel it was but the knowledge of his foolish thought processes didn't stop him from observing a little girl, no older than twelve, with curly dark brown hair and freckles as she eagerly consumed her ice cream, trailing idly behind her parents.

"I doubt there would be a kidnapping in front of our very eyes," Wammy pointed out as he noticed where L's attention was, of course his Care-taker had overheard the same conversation, he wouldn't be Wammy if he didn't and he most certainly wouldn't be Watari.

"I am aware of..." L trailed off in shock as the little girl he was watching promptly vanished. He didn't blink, he hadn't blinked and no one had passed in front of him. One moment she was there and the next... gone, not a trace, just a discarded ice cream cone splattered across the grass.

"Oh my," Wammy breathed.

L... L's brain imploded with possibilities, this was possibly the best birthday present Wammy had ever given him!

* * *

**(1) El Lawliett: Right, we all know that Death Note's creator SUCKS at making Western names. **(Beyond Birthday, Believe Bridesmaid, Quarter Queen, Backyard _Bottomslash?_ Yeah. Just a few examples.) **I solidly refuse to believe that a letter can be a name, it goes against every English bone in my body and having studied it at college it makes my toes curl to think of it actually being on a Birth Certificate. Ergo, I turned it into a phonetic name. El/L Its the same name, sounds exactly the same, but one is a letter and the other is actually a name.**

El Lawliett is his real name now in this, L is his nickname, his cover and his identity. He is L but much like how Mello is Mello but his real name is something else, this is the same.

* * *

**Yes, the kidnapping begins and L is possibly the only person excited about it, hell, he's ****almost**** got a hard on. XDDD;; Happy Birthday L, try wrapping your mind around this one.**


	7. Sail On

**Will to Live**

**CHAPTER SEVEN**

**Sail On**

_Note:_ I can't believe it, XDDD I hadn't expected so many people to actually buy the whole '_El_' vs '_L_' thing. As only one very clever person figured out, **I was trolling**, and now you're hating XDD

I just wanted to see how many people would laugh, or try to garrotte me with piano wire. However, if you like it, by all means keep referring to him as such, if not, don't bother XDDD.

_**000**_

Having never held a very high opinion of local Law Enforcement officers, L soon found what little respect he had for them dropping even further as he stood on the _receiving end_ of the investigation, they were inefficient, timewasting, asking all the _wrong_ questions, badgering both him and Wammy. He had eaten through his stash of sweets and had thoroughly demolished his gingerbread, he hadn't been allowed to eat at all during his '_interview_' – see: interrogation, and he was already becoming more and more frustrated and angry with these morons in uniform with their stupid shiny buttons and less than ten-percent active brain matter.

Wammy was likewise losing patience with the local Law Enforcement operatives despite having more experience in dealing with them, they were being rather boorish and bullheaded about everything, overly eager to jump down their throats at every perceived suspicious activity. Quillish had been forced to defend himself about remaining unmarried and yet adopting such a suspicious young man as '_Edward_'. From his place, stood a little further away, he could see the dark haired eighteen year old was getting further and further stressed and irritable by the behaviour of the man interrogating him, in a minute they would be suffering from a case of Assaulting an Officer. Or they would have, had the manager of the circus not shown up and effectively distracted L from contemplating Grievous Bodily Harm on the officer interviewing him.

The manager was a very large and physically powerful man, he did not look happy about the police being within his work space, but there was a certain kind of resignation to his expression that suggested he had an idea of why they were present. "Levka Vostok, manager of Polnach Circus, how can I help you gentlemen?" he asked, nodding to the most heavily decorated man present.

"Captain Wright, seems as though there's been a kidnapping, sir," the Officer explained heavily, L chewing on his thumb as he watched Levka sigh heavily.

"Little girl, between ten and thirteen, fairly well off family, siblings, vanished without a trace?" he asked, almost as if quoting someone or something. A look of relief almost immediately spread across the Captain's face.

"You've seen here then?" he asked.

Levka shook his head, "No, and its doubtful anyone ever will. This isn't the first kidnapping we've had, its almost always the same as well. Little girl, well off family, siblings, between ten and thirteen, vanishes without a trace, no ransom, no letter, no body, nothing."

If Quillish weren't aware of how suspicious it was, he would have smiled at the sudden light of enthusiasm within his young Charge's dark eyes. This case would be solved within a week if the Greatest Detective in the World had anything to say about it. But first...

The Captain sighed, "I was afraid of that. Mr Vostok, I'm going to have to ask you to gather all your staff, I'll need statements and alibis from all of them. We have witnesses who can pin-point the time of abduction and the location, if not the method." This was said with a rather dirty look over at Quillish and L, the former of which had simply told them he hadn't seen who took the girl, one moment she was there, he looked down, looked back up and she was gone. L had been more blunt and a lot less believable, she was there, then she wasn't, he didn't blink, nothing moved, he saw something pale but that was it, given the lights in the area he was willing to brush that off as a reflection of a light off something shiny. The police were not impressed with him but they couldn't push too hard since Quillish had explained that his adoptive son had Aspergers, if they got rough with him then it could be considered discrimination.

An hour later, the majority of the circus had arrived and another truck of police officers had pulled up, L and Quillish were sat off to the side watching the goings on as men and women in various states of costume and undress were quizzed and snarled at. A fight very nearly broke out amidst the Clown team when one officer made some derogatory conclusions about how a pair of lesbians had been the kidnappers and were now abusing the little girl to satisfy their sick desires for sexual gratification. L looked as though he were already building up a Misconduct file against the man as one of his fellow officers dragged him past, disgust written across his face.

"Anyone seen Silver or Ira?" someone called.

"That paste takes forever to get out of your hair, they're still in the showers. You know what Ira's like, if someone tries to pull 'em out, they're getting sent to the hospital on a stretcher," another voice responded just as a pair of men came onto the scene, wearing thick bathrobes and sandals. One with red-black hair, startlingly green eyes and a thin pair of silver rimmed glasses, L could see something that looked curiously like scar tissue under the shaggy mop of hair, at his side was a white haired albino, his hair tipped in black, red eyes narrowed on everyone around them as they arrived.

"Can someone explain what's going on?" the red head with the glasses asked, taking L by surprise somewhat, it was the Phoenix from the show earlier, that meant the white haired male was the Dragon if they were busy removing paste from their hair.

"Another kid's gone missing," a young man without a shirt explained making his way over and wrapping an arm around the Phoenix's waist, looking tired and upset. L watched with ill concealed fascination as the red head sighed and closed his eyes as if in pain, head dropping to rest on the shirtless man's shoulder while the white haired male growled angrily, sounding more like his stage character than an actual person.

"Has anyone seen Annabelle?" the red head asked making the shirtless man shake his head.

"She's with the tigers, they're really unsettled tonight," Shirtless explained, rubbing a hand in circles around the red head's back. "C'mon, you and Ira need to give alibis and explain where you've been."

"Right," Phoenix muttered, slipping free and making his way to the nearest uniformed officer.

Judging by their body language, no one was lying in L's professional opinion, the police didn't seem interested as they continued to question everyone and station more officers in the general area to prevent the Circus folk from moving around freely. Distantly, L could see the little girl's family sat in the back of one of the cruisers, sobbing and clinging to each other as they desperately waited for either news or dismissal.

A scream brought his attention back to the Circus folk, a woman with curly hair had dissolved into tears and was now clinging to Phoenix tightly as he murmured soothingly in her ear until her head snapped around and she looked wildly at Quillish and himself. Immediately she ran over, ducking under one of the officers that tried to stop her.

"You saw! You saw the girl get taken, what did you see? Did you see his face? The one who took her? Did you see? What did you see?" she cried desperately as Phoenix caught her around the waist and hauled her back. Her eyes were large and wild, desperate as she struggled against him. L drew back, horror struck, half hiding behind Quillish who looked likewise stunned by the sudden feral display of the woman who played Princess Jasmine on stage.

Phenoix drew her off, murmuring quietly as she sobbed and trembled against him.

"Don't worry about her," a male voice explained from their other side as the two were accosted by an officer who looked less than happy with the young woman's sudden hysterical break, L and Quillish looked over to see the young man who played the Most Trusted Advisor. He gave them a sad smile, "Annabelle gets upset whenever a kid is taken, we think the same guy who took her away when she was a kid is the one stealing children now, or at least a Copy Cat, she gets terrified at the thought of him, or her, anywhere nearby," he explained with a small shrug. "Oh yeah, I'm Eristoff, saw you in the performance crowd earlier, hope you enjoyed it. Though its a pretty shitty way to end the evening," he added in an undertone watching the group, his family, as they dealt with the police.

"How often has this happened?" L asked, watching him as he nibbled on the pad of his thumb.

"The kidnappings?" he asked, "More than I'd like to think on. You'd be better off asking Silver about that, he wanted to be a Detective before he ran away from home as a kid, he's got a whole file on the kidnappings, witness statements, sketches of the scene, anything you can think of, its pretty good given that he hasn't been here for any of them. Kid's been investigating whenever he gets free time, already dug one paedophile out of the Carnie crowd." The smile on the dark haired man's face was proud and a little upset at the same time, no one liked the thought of sharing living space with paedophiles or child abusers. L however was eyeing the red head, Silver or Phoenix, with a contemplative stare, perhaps he could be useful during his investigation.

Green eyes clashed with black as Silver looked over at him.

_**000**_

Annabelle took several hours to calm down and ended up sleeping in Harry's bunk in the Aerials Trailer while he shared with Eristoff, giving the woman some space but not letting her be alone, not after the questioning that those police bastards put her through. She very nearly suffered another nervous breakdown, as it stood, Harry was definitely going to be issuing a formal complaint to Captain Wright about how they were verbally attacking her, he didn't much care for the way they treated him either but at least they had a right to – he did refuse to give them his real name, full name, date of birth and any information that could be used to trace back to Harry James Potter.

He was Silver now, Silver who had the best herbal painkillers, muscle relaxants and sleeping medicine in the Circus, Silver whom things like gravity and heights meant nothing to, Silver who had a bad habit of getting overly friendly with people when drunk – incidentally how he lost his virginity, to Dorian of all people, Mr Chronic Exhibitionist. He liked Silver, Silver was free and funny and bright and playful, Harry was dark and quiet and tormented and far too serious for his own good.

Silver sighed as he lounged on top of the training trampolines, with the police investigation, all performances were on hold and they weren't allowed to leave L.A. no matter what their VISAs said, the FBI had shown up five days ago and were conducting interviews with _everyone _in the circus, carnies, staff, performers, technicians and mechanics, even the first aiders. He hummed quietly as he doodled a picture of a pure white owl on his black folder in Tip-X, he missed Hedwig, his faithful friend was still missing and his magic couldn't find her, he knew she was alive and well and still incredibly angry with her current situation, but she was alright so he was glad. He had worried for her a lot when living on the streets and as much as he missed her, where she was now was feeding her better than he had been able to during their time in London, so he was kind of glad she was where she was. True he could take good care of her, here, now, but at the time he couldn't and his future was uncertain.

"Are you the one who goes by Silver?" a gruff, baritone voice asked from below. Tilting his head and peering over the edge of the trampoline, a dark eyebrow rose at the sight of the man in the flawless black suit, he held an I.D. Badge out, "Agent Stone, FBI, I'd like you to come with me to answer some questions about that night and the various kidnappings that have taken place. We were informed you had been collecting information."

Silver eyed him from his seat sceptically, "Toss that badge up for a second please," he requested, receiving a raised eyebrow for a moment before the badge was flung at him. Catching it was easy, still had his Seeker Reflexes, he studied it carefully, making note of the serial numbers before gathering up his papers and pencil case, it seemed legit, true the FBI were questioning people but that didn't mean a damn thing to Silver or Harry because they were suspicious bastards who trusted very, _very _few people. "Here," he returned the badge, "Just let me put these away and I'll grab my files," he explained, leading the way back to the Aerials trailer. Agent Stone followed him annoyingly close, almost as if he were trying to walk in exactly the same foot-step patterns as Silver himself, how annoying. Sitting on his bed he dragged out two files from the small niche in his bunk, stowing the pictures in one he slid it back in place and picked up the red folder and his pencil case, "Let's go."

"I can carry those for you," Agent Stone offered, receiving a frigid look from the young man in question.

"You wouldn't hand off evidence of an on going case to someone else in the office, would you?" the red head demanded sharply, "Don't expect me to do the same. Now, where are we going and make it quick, some of us have things we have to do later," he bit out. Like feed and muck out the tiger cages because Annabelle was in no fit state to do either.

The man scowled but led the younger man into a trailer that hadn't been there earlier in the day, already he could see Eristoff, Hale, Layla, Kiiro, Ira, Kyoko, Astrid and Ingrid sitting a little off to the side. They were questioning them department by department so they didn't miss anyone, and, of course, being the resident '_Detective_', Silver was getting called up first because he had collected the most information regarding the kidnappings and had the most success when pursuing them – as evidenced by the way he fingered Justin Rogers as a paedophile who used the disappearing little girls as a cover to run a paedophile human trafficking ring.

A man garbed in a long leather trench coat and wide brimmed fedora greeted them at the door, his features entirely concealed under the brim of his, quite frankly, _awesome_ hat. He was fairly tall, broad shouldered and had an air of quiet confidence, his spine was straight putting Silver in mind of the Military or some form of trained Law Enforcement, he was also highly aware of their surroundings, paying particular attention to him as he came over with the FBI bloke. Harry suppressed the shiver that tried to work its way down his spine at being watched so intensely without ever seeing the man's eyes.

"Agent Stone, Mr Silver, thank you for your time. Mr Silver, this way please," the man rasped, his voice curiously distorted and without accent. Voice Distorting technology? This was getting more and more suspicious the longer he observed, this had never happened before.

Glancing over at the others who were looking equally bemused, Silver followed the leather clad man into the trailer, well, if someone had to figure out what the hell was going on, better him than Kiiro or Kyoko. Inside the trailer it was quite the plain room, a simple white colour, metallic table in the centre of the room and a few chairs, a white laptop sitting in the middle of the table, its screen blank save for the black Gothic printed '**L**' on the white screen. He gave the room a brief once over and noted the concealed cameras with an annoyed twitch of his eyebrow, well, they were certainly going to be picking him and everything about him apart weren't they?

"_Welcome Mr Silver, I am L_," the Laptop suddenly announced, "_Please take a seat_."

Whatever he had been expecting, it certainly hadn't been the ever mysterious – and frightening – L to get involved with such a small scale case, regardless of the fact that it had crossed State and Country lines, no one had mentioned this. Silver's insides froze for all of a second as his mind exploded with a fair mixture of anxiousness and horror, L was here, if anyone could figure out who Silver really was and get in contact with the people who would care, it would be L. But he was here about the kidnappings, not about Harry Potter...

The seventeen year old took a seat on one of the uncomfortable plastic chairs, unaware that his sudden alarm at discovering who was interviewing him had been noted and analysed already. "I thought you only took cases that interested you, sorry if this sounds rude but how does kids getting snatched interest you?" he asked sceptically, setting the file on the table, eyes flickering to the leather clad man as he took a seat beside the door, arms folded like some kind of security guard in a museum.

"_This case does interest me and that is all that matters. It has come to my attention that you have been gathering information on past disappearances, would you mind terribly if Watari took some copies and forwarded them to me?_" Silver knew it wasn't a request or even a question and just shrugged in response, knowing that this Watari chap was going to take them anyway.

The man in the leather got to his feet and collected the files in silence, leaning in close enough to Silver for him to get a whiff of his scent, old, he could smell sweet things, the smell of leather, metal polish and old person. Whomever this Watari person was, he was definitely much older than his posture and presence would have suggested, for that alone, Silver found himself relaxing minutely. This man carried himself like Dumbledore but he wasn't the one in charge, he was the one who worked for L and thus wasn't a power-hungry manipulative bastard, L most likely filled that criteria all by himself but Watari was humble enough to work beneath and for such a person.

L and Silver sat in silence as Watari left the room to begin making copies of the file, behind the screen of his laptop, L was studying the young man with razor sharp dark eyes, taking him in with twice the intensity he had reserved for the others of this... colourful business. Silver was different and yet the same as all of them, there was something very, very _different_ about him, something L was having difficulties putting his finger on and it was frustrating him something awful.

The eighteen year old genius dug his teeth down into the pad of his thumb, tongue probing the sharp edge of his nail thoughtfully as he dissected the younger male in front of him through the cameras.

He looked too young to be the seventeen he claimed to be, barely fifteen at most, he would have to probe that one again – even if L was quite certain that his upbringing had been abusive, at least in his childhood. The boy had obviously lived on the streets for quite an eye-opening stretch as well, but there was something different about it, him, L scowled as he contemplated the red-black haired young man in front of him. He was maddeningly difficult to quantify, rather like Mello in that regard, or rather, how Mello _would_ become in a few years, he tilted his head and blinked slowly. An exercise in contradictions. How frustrating.

He recalled Matt mentioning something about the 33.3 Variable, this young man seemed to be that variable within this case, a wild card. How vexing.

Moments later, the information Silver had handed over was printed out to his left via the Fax Machine, some of the subtleties in the pencil sketches he had drawn of the scenes and maps of each carnival layout were lost but it was negligible when the Great Detective studied everything available. He did not have all the information and indeed he had a few things the police records didn't, he had included annotations with his own opinions on each of the situations and people involved, they were highly insightful and displayed a better understanding of human nature than your average person. Included within the notes were a few asides detailing other kidnappings that were _not_ related to the current cases, thoughts behind them, patterns and routines and similarities and the like between each of the people in the circus. These patterns were what had allowed him to pin one particular set of abductions on the paedophile Justin Rogers, but it seemed as though he was drawing in like a shark on fresh blood in water to another group, larger and more brutal but without the Trafficking connections, roughly five individuals of predominantly male gender, he wasn't sure if there were any women in the group, their tactics suggested not – women tended to prefer smothering or poison to murder as opposed to beating and strangling – but he wasn't ruling it out and had set out a tentative list with five bullet points each and a page number beside each name, the bullet points with the core reasons why and the page number with alibis, times, dates and details of each kidnapping they could be connected to and the patterns that had emerged behind them.

It was... given the fact that the young man hadn't been in the circus for any of these disappearances, it was _frighteningly_ thorough and the Detective could only heartily approve and admire his information gathering skills as much as he was suspicious of them. This level of quality and detail was not natural for someone who had not been there, _at the time_. So, unless the people he was questioning had photographic memories and could perfectly recall all of their actions and the actions of others at the times of these abductions, he was getting restricted evidence from _somewhere_. A possible leak in the police department? Never the less, he called the FBI agents who were currently installing cameras and microphones throughout the Aerials Caravan under the pretence of hunting for suspicious drugs, images or other illegal things. Already several people had been busted for possession of drugs, the most common being cannabis.

"Agent Gibbs, please take all laptops and computer towers within the caravan. I would like to personally comb through their files," he explained to the field agent who agreed curtly before hanging up. The FBI were familiar with his behaviours, he wouldn't be surprised if they were now paying extra attention to the Aerials Division from now on, whatever and whomever L paid close attention to was worth being held under a microscope according to all Law Enforcement operatives who had ever worked with him in the past. Flattering, but unnecessary.

Watari returned to the room and slid the file back across the table to the red head who wasted no time opening it up and checking through the pages, thumbing through them with familiarity and speed, clearly fully aware of what each and every page was and what was written on them. L arched an eyebrow, his behaviour showed a distinct lack of trust as he made sure each and every page of his obviously painstakingly gathered information was still there and undamaged or defaced.

"Your information gathering skills are quite impressive," he informed the younger male, keeping his voice mild and watching as green eyes snapped up from under that thick mane of crimson-black hair, fingers stilling on the pages even as the rest of him did not move.

"_I've always had to find things out by myself. People tend to remember more than they want to think about, you just need to ask the right questions_," he pointed out coolly, apparently aware of his rather leading question and willing to throw him a bone. L smiled absently at the screen, he found himself rather amused by the younger teenager's rather prideful condescension of himself. He was being humoured. On any other occasion it would have irritated him but he could tell by the facial muscle twitches and the way his body shifted and held itself that the former Street Rat held him, L himself, in high regard, himself, Silver, in rather low regard, not the kind of conscious low self esteem but rather in a very _subconscious_ my existence is lower than yours kind of way, but was quite good at pretending otherwise in order to maintain a façade of normality or extrovertive self confidence. For what reason, L could not yet fathom, perhaps for his own comfort? Though it seemed as though it were merely out of habit, a way of deflecting possible beliefs or concerns of childhood abuse maybe? It seemed more of an ingrained personality quirk than a conscious effort.

"Never the less, the information you have provided me with shall be highly helpful, your powers of observation are remarkable. Would you be willing to aid us in our investigation? I am quite sure that you yourself will be doing your own in your free time, I merely offer the opportunity to do so officially and without the red tape." He was fairly certain the teenager would take his offer, he was already eyeing the laptop with that disconcertingly sharp gaze that made L lean forward in intrigue, wondering desperately what the younger teenager was thinking because those cut-glass bottle green eyes were unreadable and his body language displayed nothing but intense wariness and thought.

In a way, he was glad that his offer was being given so much thorough thought. Silver was not going to greedily grab at it and then complain when it wasn't what he anticipated.

"_Would I be answerable to yourself or the FBI?_" he asked, face and body still betraying nothing.

"Only to myself and Watari, unfortunately, given the fact that you are a member of the Polnach Staff, the FBI would object to your taking part with their side of the investigation as you are still listed as a suspect in their eyes." L had no problem with this sort of thing, he sought justice, if there was no justice to be found, regardless of the crime, he would not be interested. It drove Wammy up the wall that he knew and allowed various criminals to slip free from his grasp because he knew the reasons behind their crimes were good and just, the fact that the law had been broken was not in L's interest at that point. Hell, he had broken the law himself, many a time as a child and pre-teen.

"_Would I receive information on the previous kidnapping cases? I wasn't able to get anything when I phoned the police in charge last time, despite it being a cold case according to them._" L was 98-percent certain that Silver was going to accept his offer, so he was beginning to feel a little frustrated that the younger male had not yet said yes and agreed to his terms. However, the fact that he was still asking questions meant that he was still deciding and weighing the pros and cons, he was thinking this through in a way that very few people outside of Wammy's House would have.

"You would."

"_... Would I be paid?_" Pay? Ah yes, the Circus paid them, mainly by allowing a roof over their heads, water for showers, electricity and the like, but they only provided pay enough for them to buy food. If they weren't preforming then they weren't bringing in money and the staff weren't going to be paid. L would have to see about relaxing the strangle hold that the FBI had on the circus, see if they couldn't get some performances going and a few of the rides operating during the daylight hours, just to make sure that they don't starve to death. Given that they were on a working VISA they had no legal right to try and claim Unemployment, never mind the fact that none of them – well, maybe one or two – were American Citizens.

"You would."

"_...When this bastard gets caught... I want all mention of myself removed from the media and the police,_" he finally conceded, agreeing to the offer in so many words but also making a demand that caused L's eyebrows to shoot up into his hairline. "_I have a Stalker back in England._ _They're something of a fan of yours so I'd prefer any mention of me removed from any media and police records when this draws to an end._"

L nodded, even though Silver couldn't see it, "I understand. Welcome aboard. Watari would you please give Mr Silver one of our mobile phones? Thank you," he intoned, watching as Wammy, clad head to foot in black leather, removed a sleek black device from his pocket and handed it over to the red head. "Mr Silver, that device cannot be used to call or text anyone aside from myself or Watari. Tomorrow, we will obtain a charger for you but for tonight the battery power alone will be sufficient. I must request that you keep that phone on you at all times, I will try to keep my calls to reasonable working hours but on occasion I may be forced to get your attention at a less than convenient, or appreciated, hour. This phone also acts as a Tracking Device should you become endangered, merely dial hash and nothing else, Watari's phone will be notified and the tracker automatically initiated on my laptop. This is for your safety," he explained, watching as the seventeen year old flipped the phone up and studied it, fiddling with a few of the keys before closing it and nodding towards the webcam.

"_Alright, thank you for the opportunity, L. I look forward to working with you and Mr Watari._"

L smiled, picking at his toenail, "No, Mr Silver, the pleasure is all mine."

_**000**_

**L IS A BITCH TO WRITE! DDDDDDDDDX His thought processes are so freaking complicated at times, especially given that I'm trying to have him like Silver as opposed to be completely dead-fish on him. I hope you all enjoyed the chapter though.**


End file.
